Yoke: To Crimson Splendor
by AlabastR
Summary: It took a lifetime to get where they both had been & suddenly it all came crashing down. With Woodbury's army led by The Governor & Daryl's brother, Merle, can they keep their group safe? Keep each other from losing it? A story of warring morality, hearts, & groups of survivors. "M"-language, sexuality, extreme violence, & implied offensive situations. Daryl/OC Pru Dorsey
1. Chapter 1

**HELLO! Welcome to the second part of...Whatever this story has become! If you're new to the story, "Yoke", I'd like to thank you very much for showing interest in my little story. If you're not new to it, and you've been waiting for this sequel, I LOVE YOU. Thank you for following and keeping up with it. I'm floored by how many people have been reading and reviewing, and I'm so grateful for all the kind words & encouragement you've all be giving me over the last, well, couple months! Yowza! It's been that long!**

**If you ARE new, you may want to go back and read the first half of "Yoke". If not, we're picking back up exactly where we left off(though, I must admit, I probably should have started this story off with the last chapter. I feel like that one establishes a whole lot more & sets the grave tone that I'm going for with this...BUT WHO CARES!)**

**In this chapter, our beloved survivors are going back west across Georgia in search of the town of Woodbury, the town that Merle had absently named off as their refuge. Daryl, in particular, is distraught and desperate to get the girls back, safe and sound. They're about to meet a few new friends, as well as have a potential break thrown their way.**

**So that's the setup! Hope you all find the chapter entertaining. Don't forget to review to let me know how you're enjoying it so far. I love feedback & enjoy suggestions & criticism! Anything you want or need to ask about the characters(OC or otherwise) have at it! Much love & thanks to all! -Laur!**

**DISCLAIMER!: I DON'T OWN TWD, ITS CHARACTERS OR ANYTHING FUN LIKE THAT.**

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His angry eyes kept flicking from point to point in succession as he chewed at the skin on his chapped bottom lip.

Road, keychain, Carol. Road, keychain, Carol.

Pru hadn't told him about a dog. Never once had she mentioned the animal. But then, sure enough, the happy picture of her in only a bathing suit top and baggy blue jeans, a chow dog slung over her shoulders like a spring lamb, was swaying and clacking against the steering column as he flew down the road behind the other cars.

He became acutely aware that there was probably a lot that she'd not told him about her life before the plague. There'd definitely been vast amounts he'd not yet made her privy to. There hadn't been time, really. Not between living day to day. Tasks and chores and hunting and all the fucking death and running. No time to tiny squeeze in more little details about who they were between the hate and then tension they'd once harbored for each other. No time really between then and their physical actions. As she and that nameless animal smiled up at him from the tiny souvenir keychain, he hated himself for not making time.

He jammed her CJ into the next gear, accelerating a bit more, pissed at himself for a second. The old him-Merle Dixon's younger brother- spoke up then.

_So who's she to me? I barely know her._

He shook the terrible thought of whether this was all actually worth it from his head forcefully and ground his teeth together, fighting again to hold back the moisture that was burning his eyes and sinuses. He wanted to know more about her. Dammit, he wanted to know everything, and the only way he was going to be able to tell her that is if they hurried their asses up and got to Woodbury, wherever the hell that was. Her life depended on their swiftness, and so did the lives of Andrea, Beth, and Michonne.

Carol gasped in the seat next to him and braced her hands on the door and the dashboard as he hit the brakes a bit roughly. He'd just about been on top of the pickup's tailgate. He sniffed.

"Calm yer ass down. We ain't gon' crash." He groused at her. The first thing he'd said to her all since they'd gotten on the road. She looked flustered, annoyed, and a bit pained, still suffering from the sting of the long line of laceration that Merle had dealt her and the stitches Herschel had hastily mended her with.

He hadn't wanted her to get in the jeep with him when they left the ranger station. He hadn't wanted anyone to share the long ride back west through the Chattahoochee with him. He wanted to be alone, to try to calm his nerves and gather his thoughts in fucking peace. She'd climbed into the passenger side after he'd specifically told her he didn't want her there and that she should ride with Herschel because she was injured anyway. And _Goddammit_.

"It's just a scratch." She'd huffed as she closed herself in. Now he was stuck with her, and she was about to start telling him how to drive.

"There's two drums of gas in that truck, Daryl. Ease up a bit." She said hesitantly.

"I know that! I can see 'em!" he belted. Carol withdrew into the door, wincing at the volume and rage in his voice, and looking every bit as much of the old her as she ever had for a brief flash. He bit his bottom lip to keep his snarl under wraps. He regretted snapping at her immediately.

Suddenly, Carol's meek former self retreated back into whatever deep recesses of her mind it had been stashed over the last few weeks. She'd apparently realized who she was dealing with and what the situation called for. She leaned over, snaking her left arm over his onto the wheel and jammed hard on the horn a few times, hissing at the pain in her side.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he snapped again. The cars in front of him began to slow and he had to pull off to the side of the pickup T-Dog was driving to keep from another near collision.

"You're in no shape to be driving right now." She said quietly as she pulled herself from the vehicle and closed the door behind her. As she rounded the front end of the jeep, she held a hand up, gesturing down the line of cars that everything was fine and it would only be a minute. His temper swelled again.

"THE HELL I AIN'T." he shouted at her through the rolled up windows. She reached his door and yanked it open, placing her other hand at her hip.

"Come on now." She said voice just above a whisper but just as forceful as a shout as she urged him out of the driver 's seat.

"Carol…Get back in the damn car." He growled low and warning as he eyed her. She wasn't backing down, though. Evidently his patented menacing looks and dangerous way of speaking was quickly losing its effect on the members of their group. Carol just looked at him with a well-practiced _'Your temper tantrum won't work on me, young man'_ expression.

"Stop that. You're wasting time." she scolded quietly, "Now go on. Scooch over."

He wasn't about to give up that easily. He put the four wheel drive animal in park and hopped out in front of her and loomed.

"You even know how to drive stick?"

He'd meant it to sound venomous. Meant. But his voice had cracked rather clearly on the last syllable, smashing his guise even further. Carol fretted at the sound and he found her hand squeezing his forearm and he finally folded, ducking his head and moving out of her way so she could climb in and take the reins.

He looked ahead at the line of cars. In the dimness of dusk, he could barely make out the three worried faces that were reflected in three side view mirrors. Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog. But he shot a weak glare their way anyway and then crossed in front of the jeep, opened the door, and slumped into the seat.

As the jeep began to pull forward, following the others again, a low, defeated groan escaped from his chest and brought his palms to his face. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he gave in completely to grief and let it swallow him up. He hadn't cried for his bitch mother when she had passed, nor for his bastard father. He'd almost been brought to tears at the sound of Carol's brokenhearted bleating the day Shane had thrown those barn doors wide and Sophia's tiny, void body stumbled out, and he'd shed a tear or two for Merle when he'd found his lonely, rigored hand lying in the gravel on that rooftop in Atlanta…But it was nothing like this.

The transmission hitched beneath them as Carol shifted into second gear, and then third, and as he cried silently into his hands, and he felt Carol rest her hand on his wrist, done with shifting for now. He couldn't feel her eyes on him, though. She'd diligently kept them to the road, knowing that by looking over to him as he wept, she'd strip him of that last scrap of dignity.

"You've held it together better than anyone, throughout everything…For months…This whole time." She murmured reassuringly. She'd left off the last bit, though. It didn't need to be said aloud.

_It's okay to cry now. You've more than earned it._

He held his breath, trying to steady himself, and wiped at his face furiously, unintentionally shaking her hand free, and even threw in a smack or two to the side of his head to help reel his mind back in. He felt her glance over then. That part had disturbed her a little. He frowned and settled his head against the trees that blurred past them outside the cold glass of the window.

"We're gunna find them, Daryl…We'll find her." She said quietly, and she reached back over for his hand, folding his dirty fingers underneath hers. He turned his head to face her finally, but she still didn't look over. He just stared in awe at the stoic face, lightly lit up by the red brake lights in front of them. Never in a million years did he think that she'd be repeating those words he'd said to her during that hellish time she'd endured. Not back to him, for him, about someone _he_ cared about. He squeezed her hand without thinking about it.

"Yeah." He breathed, words fogging on the cold glass as they left his lips after he'd turned his head to face back out that side window. He was suddenly very glad that she was the one that was in that car with him.

** ...**

How the fuck long was this ride? It hadn't seemed this long on their way out there originally. It was long, but the last few hours had stretched out forever like the dark road in front of them. After he'd stopped crying like a little girl, Carol had suggested, though she admittedly said she didn't know why she was bothering to suggest it, that he try to rest. He'd scoffed and massaged his pounding head and she shrugged.

He'd gone over the whole thing in his mind a million times since then. What he could have done better. How he could have stopped the whole thing from playing out the way it had. He'd come to the conclusion that he should've just handed his crossbow off to Glenn and the both of them could have silently picked off Merle and his group from afar.

_The fuck was I thinkin'? _

And then the rational side of his brain kicked himself again. There was no changing what was done and over with. Not now. Now was the time to gather his thoughts, cool the fuck off, and figure out just what they needed to do. But he'd hit a brick wall there. They knew nothing about what was awaiting them at this Woodbury place, and the Devil was in the details.

Just as he finished the thought, the cars in front of them skidded to a halt and Carol let out a startled yawp as she spun the wheel, steering the car away from the extremely flammable pickup. The jeep lurched as she hit the brakes, her door about a foot away from the other vehicle's rear end.

"Christ! You okay?" he asked looking over at a very wide-eyed and shaken Carol. Her mouth was slightly open as she panted and nodded in response to his question. Immediately after she'd confirmed her safety he was reaching behind him into the packed back seat for his crossbow. He pulled it to him and threw his door open, stalking past the other cars as T-Dog, Herschel, and Glenn were now pulling themselves out of.

"The fuck is goin' on?! Don' any of you assholes know how to drive?" he called, not caring at this point of there were undead monsters lurking within the sleeping trees and naked thickets off to the side of the desolate road. He stormed up the line of vehicles, and just as he rounded the side of the Suburban that was carrying the Grimes Family he was met by two stiff figures standing in the glow of the headlights. He raised his bow and was about to fire when the much larger of the two jumped at the sound of Daryl's aggressive movements.

"Don't shoot! Please!" the impossibly deep voice begged as Rick jumped out the other side, "We're unarmed!"

"Fuck that!" Daryl barked, Glenn and T-Dog meeting his back and taking their cues from him, weapons trained on the two males in front of them. The large, dark-skinned man before them was limply holding a rather large tree branch in one hand. Behind the other arm, a much smaller, younger white kid, probably around Beth's age, was tucked and cowering.

"You_ are_ armed. Drop the stick." Rick said steadily. The man nodded.

"Okay. Okay…Just don't hurt us. We're just tryin' to…"

He tapered off, shaking his head and tossed the fallen limb off to the side, far out of reach. Apparently, he had no idea what he was trying to do beyond not ending up dead. Carol popped into Daryl's periphery just behind Rick then and gasped at the sight of the other survivors.

"Carol…" T-Dog warned before Daryl even had the chance to. Daryl watched the man's head turn to her.

"Please." He said softly, "We got no food, no water. No place to hole up. We're not lookin' for trouble…My little girl…She just got-"

Great. Now he'd not only seen that they had women beyond Lori in the cars, but he was begging to the one softest person in their group for mercy.

"Shut up." Daryl snapped again, interrupting what he knew was about to come out of his mouth, knowing that if he completed the sentence it would surely crack someone's resolve beyond Carol's. That's all they needed to hear. It was too late, though. Rick and Glenn were lowering their weapons, and T-Dog was turning away from the scene looking exasperated as he eyed the forest behind them.

"Rick." Daryl warned, but their leader's hand came up, telling him to back off.

"Are either of you bit? Scratched?" he asked the man and the boy. Daryl knew where this was going. They didn't have time for this bullshit.

_NO RICK. ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT. YOU CAN'T TAKE IN THESE STRAYS. WE GOT NO PLACE TO PUT 'EM. WHAT ARE YOU GUNNA FEED 'EM?! WHO'S GUNNA CLEAN UP AFTER 'EM?! GODDAMMIT._

The hulking man, now just about in tears, shook his head. "No."

Rick turned to Daryl as if to ask him what he thought. If he was looking for support however, he wouldn't find it in the hunter. Not for this lunacy. Daryl snarled and shook his head, sight still set on the huge man's forehead. Rick sighed and moved his eyes back to the other man, still clutching to the boy that was behind him. Rick stepped forward slowly and raised his hand in a peaceful gesture, meaning for him to shake it.

"Rick. Rick Grimes." He offered. The other man eyed him for a second, and then searched the eye of the others off to his left.

"I'm Tyreese…This is Chris." He said finally taking the offered hand.

"Are you outta yer goddamn mind, Rick?! Yer gunna collect some more dead weight now?! After everythin' that happened today?!...WHAT IF THEY'RE RUNNIN' WITH 'EM?!"

Rick turned to Daryl, eyes deadly serious. "I don't see them running with anyone right now, do you?"

Carol squeezed past the hood of the truck and Rick's back, hands up to Daryl trying to settle him down already. He withdrew his aim finally, throwing his arms up in the air and stalked back to the jeep. He just wanted to get back on the road…He just wanted to collect Pru and the others, kill as many of those sick fucks as he could, and then call it a fucking day.

Carol was right on his ass as he slammed the passenger side door closed. If he was pissed and in no shape to drive before, Rick had just about tossed an oil tanker's worth of gasoline onto the flames. He tossed the crossbow behind him and ignored her as she pulled the door back open and began speaking.

"He's got a kid with him." She said quietly. He snapped his head to her at that, glaring.

"That don' mean shit, an' you know it. Carl's better with a gun now than half the members a'this group. Age ain't shit no-more. That's two more people we gotta watch out fer."

He turned away, sulking after that. Carol crossed her arms and sighed, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and he could tell she was trying to think up her next arguing point. She uncrossed her arms and braced her weight against the small removable door and the body of the tall vehicle, effectively trapping him in if he dared go anywhere.

"…You hated her at first, too." She said, matter-of-factly. He turned back to her slowly, eyes hard as he chewed at the inside of his mouth. He knew she was right. He never trusted anyone at first. Every single stranger was always the enemy, but with good reason. This world wasn't kind to the soft-hearted or the trusting, and over his dead body was someone going to come into their group and tear it up from the inside out.

_You know I'm right, Daryl._

Her eyes said it all. He shook his head at her and then began fussing with the hilt of his knife at his hip and they both stayed quiet for a long while. When he looked up a few minutes later, his eyes fell upon Rick as he was crossing the front of the sideways facing jeep, no doubt coming to try to talk him down as well. He said nothing for a second. He just stood in back of Carol with his hands resting on his hips like they seemed to always be when he was trying to work something out in his head.

"We could really use all the manpower we can get, right now. This guy, Tyreese…Looking at him, I'd say he's about as good as two men."

"An' what if he ain't so innocent? You trust these guys you just met around yer wife an' yer boy, 'cuz I gotta say, man, I'm thinkin' this is right up there with yer original decision to grab Randall's dumb ass up and drag him back to the farm."

Rick bit his bottom lip in anger at Daryl's mention of the folly that had been the Randall situation. He looked to his feet and then spun, trying to find the strength to keep calm. He had to remind himself that Daryl was in a bad way emotionally. He came back to the car to assert himself with his final point.

"I'd feel better about it if you'd agree with me, but it's not up for debate…They're alone. They have nothing. I'm not leaving them on the side of the road to die like dogs…I can't do that, and I know if- If she were here, she'd agree with me." Rick said running a hand down his face.

Daryl didn't look at him. He couldn't. Rick had him, tit-for-tat, with that one. He took a minuet, not wanting to give in all at once, and then cleared his throat and scratched at his jaw.

"Whatever…Let's just get goin' so we can find this place already."

Rick didn't move and didn't say anything. He just stood there shifting again and Daryl's irritation started bubbling back up. He turned back to Rick and saw that Carol, too, was now looking at the back of the man's head, a worried and questioning look on her face.

"What?" Daryl snarled low in his throat, eyeing his friend, wound and ready to snap.

"We need time, Daryl. We need a place to gather ourselves and figure out a plan…" Rick began.

He wasn't saying this. He _couldn't _be saying this. It was absolutely impossible that Rick was standing in front of him suggesting that they _wait_ to go find them. He pushed his way out of the jeep, not even bothering to look at either of the people standing next to him, and he moved to the back seat and started pulling things out to make room.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Carol asked.

"What's it look like?!" Daryl yelled. He spun back to the open door and continued to throw the clothes and the bottles of water and the bags of food onto the pavement.

"You're not going off on your own! Rick, tell him he can't do this!" Carol pleaded desperately.

"Daryl…Daryl. DARYL!" Rick tried, finally opting to just grapple his friend into facing he and Carol again. It wasn't easy maneuvering the raging bull into a submission hold, but it needed to be done. He hadn't been treated this harshly since the day he'd come back from a two day long hunt only to find that this same fucking man had left his scumbag brother on that roof.

The déjà vu struck him and for some reason he found himself laughing weakly at it and most of the fight left him. Carol brought her hands up to her mouth, looking even more disturbed by the laughter rattling out of him.

"Hey. Hey," Rick whispered soothingly, slowly slipping him down to the ground gently so he didn't smack his face into the open door of the CJ or the concrete, "We need you here, Daryl. We need you to hold it together…Look. Look at Carol."

Daryl felt Rick's weight pressing him to the cold road as he breathed the dust and tiny pebbles into his open mouth. He spat the mud out and did what Rick had told him to do without even thinking about it. He looked up at her and saw how terrified she was that he was coming apart at the seams right there in front of her. Somehow his brain came back on just then and he went limp in Rick's grasp, eyes still on Carol's. He sucked in a breath.

"I'm- Lemme go. M'fine." He breathed out. Rick waited a second, almost not believing that he could regain his composure that quickly, but he pulled himself from Daryl's shoulders and sat up in a crouch next to him. Daryl pushed himself up to sit next to Rick and finally pulled his eyes from Carol. He let his head loll back against the jeep's step for a second as he caught his breath. Rick spoke quietly after a moment.

"I don't even wanna imagine Lori- She and I…We've had our problems lately, but…I can't even begin to know what you're going through right now, and I'm sorry it's happening."

Rick shook his head and then Daryl felt him looking his way. He found his boots in front of him much easier to look at just then, again, feeling like a child who'd once again just messed something up. Broken something.

"…But you, of all people, know we can't go into this situation blindly, Daryl. If we have any chance of getting them out of this alive, we need to know what we're up against."

"Yeah, and?" he answered, trying his best to work his old annoyed voice into the words.

"Tyreese and Chris…When they were walking through the woods before, they came down through a clearing on that hill, just over that way," Rick began as he pointed to his left. Daryl's eyes followed his finger north and then looked over to his friend finally.

"They saw a whole bunch of buildings grouped together…A compound. That's where they were headed."

Rick looked up to Carol at that, and Daryl could see it in his eyes that he was gauging her. Trying to figure out if he would have to deal with her flying off the handle as well with the information he was about to offer. It made Daryl uneasy.

"I looked at the map. We're just outside Macon…That compound they were headed to is Macon State. A prison."

Daryl's head snapped to his right, and he looked directly into Rick's grave, blue pools. He didn't know what he felt just then. He could have been pissed again, agreeable, thankful…He didn't know what to make of the swirl of emotions smashing around inside his brain. It was a dumb fucking idea…If it failed. But if it worked, it would have been fucking brilliant.

** ...**

Sixty miles lay between them and the town of Woodbury. That's what the map said. Sixty miles, give or take, and who knows how many hours or fucking days this would end up taking. They'd traveled the remainder of the short distance through the woods to four square miles of open, used up land that blotched the map. Carol had turned the lights out well before they'd come upon the parking lot. They wanted to see it before they committed to anything. Rick had jumped in the uncomfortable back seat of the CJ and perched atop the loads of messy supplies that had been heaped in so the three of them could scout out the area.

Normally, Carol would have sat this part out, but Daryl knew why Rick had told her to come instead of Glenn. Rick needed her close by in case Daryl flew off the handle again. Daryl hadn't the slightest idea how it came to be that Carol was the one person in existence that could keep his ass grounded like that. Pru couldn't even do that for him. Hell, _that_ woman, if anything, amplified any emotion he had, latched onto it, and spat it back in his face, most of the time with an even greater intensity. Sometimes he'd look back on the first couple of weeks he'd known her and wondered how they hadn't ripped each other to pieces. Carol, though…Carol was like someone dropping a block of ice into a kettle of boiling water.

He huffed as Rick leaned forward a bit more between the two front seats and sat there silently for a while, listening, looking through the dark windows uselessly. Daryl was already on edge and coiled, and the last thing he wanted right now was to be fucking crowded. Rick passed him a flashlight and he took it with a silent nod.

"Don't turn it on just yet." The other man murmured, moving to let himself out. Daryl followed behind him, leaving Carol in the driver's seat, engine idling.

They could hear it as soon as they stepped out of the damn jeep. Even over that massive, growling engine. The hissing and the groaning and the unrest of the dead penned like cattle in the dark yards of the prison ahead of them. The chain link fences pinged and trembled as the walkers aimlessly wandered into them and then bounced off. The sound caused the hair on the back of Daryl's neck to stand on end. Who knew how many of them were jammed in that yard…In those hallways and cells like fucking sardines, stewing in their own putrefaction for months and months now.

"I'm starting to think this could be a bad idea." Rick whispered, and it was barely decipherable over the drone of the dead and the engine.

"Starting?" Daryl scoffed. He was quiet for a long moment as he and Rick stood there, weapons drawn and trained on the black abyss in front of them.

"We need them weapons…Whatever's in there…We're gunna need everythin' we can get."

Rick said nothing, but something told Daryl that Rick was nodding in agreement. He started backing toward the door of the jeep again, alert and on guard against the darkness and his friend followed closely behind.

"Gotta wait til sun up. Don' make a lick'a sense to be out here right now." He needlessly said as he pulled himself back up and into the relative safety of the vehicle. He closed the door quietly as Rick uttered a '_yeah_' and closed his door up, too. They'd been outside that jeep for around forty-five seconds, and that was being generous. But that short amount of time spent in the moonless, open night's embrace, that close to what sounded like a herd's worth of gnashing jaws…He'd fucking admit to it right now. That's how intense the feeling was. He was creeped the fuck out.

"Let's get back." Rick said quietly from his spot between he and Carol's shoulders, and without hesitating, Carol backed the jeep up, turned it around, and crawled it back down the road to where the others were waiting.

When they joined back up with the rest of the group they were all briefed on the change in plans. It was then suggested that everyone climbed back in the cars and tried to rest, but the suggestion, directed mainly at him, was laughable. He and Carol had sat up most of the night in complete silence. Her breaths became steady and heavy at some point and it was then that he realized she'd been trying to stay up the entire time because he'd not yet fallen asleep, not yet wanting to let him out of her sight.

"Fuckin'…McMurphy." He'd mused to himself in a whisper, feeling very much like the psych ward resident from the book he'd read over and over years ago as he eyed Carol's slumped form in the seat next to her. He leaned over a bit, grabbing the keys in the ignition and turned them so that the car's battery lit up the dash without kicking the engine over.

_2:58_

He clicked the power back off and settled back to his seat. The sun wouldn't be up for another three and a half hours, at least. He rubbed at his sore eyes and huffed, wishing he could will the sky alight, and he sat that way, in the dark, for hours, thinking on the horrors were possibly befalling those women as they sat idly in these parked cars, dozing like it was nothing. At some point though, his mind had again shifted, and he was slightly comforted by how firm Rick had been. Rick had been right, and he knew if he was the one outside this situation, looking in, he'd not only agree with the man, but he'd be leading the call for a more solid plan of attack.

He hadn't realized he'd dozed off, but he was simultaneously ashamed of and thankful for the small amount of sleep he'd managed when his eyes snapped open. He looked around, confusedly for a moment, from Carol and then finally skyward out the windshield. The sun was beginning to cast a faint hum of lavender-grey light into the cold, overcast sky. Fucking finally. He leaned over to gently shake Carol by the shoulder to wake her.

"Carol. Hey…Sun's comin' up."

She pulled her head from the space between the headrest and the window with a start and blinked around the car for a second trying to get her tired eyes to focus. Once she was relatively alert she nodded and scrubbed her hands over her face roughly.

"Okay." She whispered, more to herself than to him as she pulled her hands from her face and wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel and flexed them a few times. Satisfied that she'd now joined him in the waking world, he nodded to her once, grabbed his crossbow up out of the back seat, and pushed out of the jeep. His stiff legs and numb ass protested as he moved along the cars to the head of the line. He came to the driver side window of the Suburban and didn't hesitate to knock hard on the window. Everyone in the truck sprung from sleep immediately, the same way Carol had. Rick's startled eyes met his briefly and he saw realization click in his head. Rick put a hand up to tell Daryl he was awake and he'd soon be ready to get moving.

Ten minutes later, everyone was up, milling around the cars, and eating out of tin cans as they listened to the plan that Rick had thought up before he'd fallen to sleep. They'd roll back up the road in a minute to stake the overrun yard out and look for their hole before he, Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog, Maggie, and Tyreese would make their their way inside. Carol and Herschel would stay behind to look after Lori, Carl, and Chris.

He warned everyone of the sheer number of walkers that he and Daryl suspected to be in the yard alone by the sounds they'd heard in the dark last night. It would be a long, bloody, dangerous, and arduous task, getting inside the walls of that prison, but it would be worth it. Rick made that clear. They needed to stay focused and work as one, keeping an eye out for each other. Then Rick had stopped his pacing in front of the group and dropped his head. His pregnant pause echoed more loudly amongst the cars and the trees on that road than any single word in his little pep talk had. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

"If any of us are bit- We can't afford to risk the rest of us when we're in there…Especially when we know what'll happen."

Everyone was silent as the absorbed the gravity of what Rick was saying and despite him beating around the bush about it, the idea seemed to be rather clear to everyone that stood there.

_"If you're bitten, there will be no attempt made to help you. You'll have to be left behind. Probably to be torn to shreds…Alone."_

Daryl watched as Maggie reached for Glenn's hand and squeezed it hard. He rolled his eyes at the action, but inwardly felt just a bit nauseated. The thought of watching any one of the group being left to die such a bloody and painful death made him wince, but again, Rick was right and he'd be the first one to back him on that. There was nothing could be done if one of them fell to a walker's bite. Their fate would be sealed.

Goodbyes were said quickly by everyone who needed to say them. After he noticed Tyreese shooting him a pathetic, sadly apologetic look, Daryl assumed Rick had told him exactly why they were doing this the night before. He glared back, feeling exposed, and quickly took himself out of the awkward and intimate scene, anxious to leave and opting to grab up the driver's seat in the Suburban. He hopped in and started it up immediately, letting everyone know that they better hurry their asses up if they didn't want him running off on what would be a solo suicide mission. It worked. The rest of the crew was quickly inside the vehicle and they were off, back down the road leading to the entrance of Macon State.

Now, in the light of the early morning, as they came upon the end of the trees that bordered the prison's property, Daryl could see just what they were dealing with. He stopped the SUV well out of earshot and sight of the geeks and turned the engine off as he leaned forward over the wheel. He folded his arms over the top of it and huffed, looking over to Rick, beside him. Maggie shot up from the back between the shoulders of the two massive men that were directly behind Daryl and Rick.

"You can't be serious, Rick! There's too many!" she hissed as she clawed and slapped at his shoulder. Daryl started pushing her back as T-Dog and Glenn pulled her while Tyreese looked on, shocked at her sudden outburst.

"Knock it the hell of, girl! You got any better ideas, you speak up 'bout 'em now. Otherwise, keep quiet an' stop wastin' yer energy." Daryl said forcefully crooking a finger at her. She shot the hunter a scathing look, but melted back into her spot in the third row of seats next to Glenn. He looked back at Rick and the other man gave Daryl a look that was both thankful and apologetic. Daryl shook his head, rolling his eyes and turned forward again, squinting at the herd that milled about aimlessly a few hundred yards ahead.

A few quiet moments passed before Glenn spoke up from the back, passing the binoculars that hung from his neck forward so Rick and Daryl could get a look at what he was seeing.

"You see how most of them are off to the left?" he began, "I think something died out there pretty recently…It looks like a few of them are still…Eating…Something."

Daryl easily found the spot that he was referring to with his unaided eyes. Ten to fifteen corpses were kneeling over a mound of carrion, still picking it apart.

"…If we go all the way off to the right and hop the fence into that corridor, it looks like there's a door just inside the yard that's cracked open a little. That's our way in. Then, hopefully, we can make our way around, clear the inside, and get to a different door that isn't open to the yard so we can get everyone else in eventually."

Rick said nothing as he studied the area and ran the rolled the plan over in his head. After a few beats he nodded and passed the binoculars over to Daryl so he, too, could see where they were headed. It was as good a plan as they were going to get as far as Daryl could tell.

"Two fences…Everyone okay to make it over those?" Rick asked. He received a few reluctant grunts of confirmation from the rag-tag group at their backs. He turned back to Daryl then.

"What do you think?"

Daryl removed the twin scopes he had pressed to his eye sockets and passed them into the back seat and then grabbed his crossbow up. "I think we better get our asses movin', is what I think."

A sad, tight-lipped smile settled itself on Rick's face and he turned around in his seat to face the others. He passed Tyreese a lantern before he spoke up again.

"Alright, we're gunna go in to the right. Stay low and quiet. When we get to those gates, Daryl and Tyreese are gunna go up and over first, then Glenn and Maggie. T-Dog and I are going to be the last two over so we can cover from behind. They're gunna spot us immediately once were up on those fences, but they're slow, so it'll give us all a chance to get down and in."

He turned back to Daryl at that point and put a hand to his shoulder. "You two keep the road clear. Once we're all in, we close our ranks and make our way to that door," he withdrew his hand and turned to the rest of the passengers again, "We don't stop for anything…No guns unless absolutely necessary. Make sure they're loaded now, but use them only if you've got to…And don't expect to be safe once we're inside that door…There's probably going to be more waiting in there."

Daryl absently felt for the screwdriver he'd stashed in his pocket before they'd all loaded up into the cars. That and his buck knife would have to do for hand-to-hand. The others were also in possession of various melee weapons. Glenn, Maggie and Rick with their machetes, T-Dog with a bat and hatchet at his hip, and Tyreese had a crowbar. It was the crowbar Pru had sat upon atop that privacy fence with as she swung away at the dead beneath her and Carl, on the morning after the farm had been taken by the dead. He grunted absently at the thought and shifted his weight in the seat as Rick finished up his speech, itching to dive out and get this over with already.

"…Everyone ready? Stay together."

That's all he could take anymore. He pushed the door open and stepped out, done with waiting for Rick to hold everyone's goddamn hand, but they all filed out behind him promptly. He made his way around the front of the car and, along with Rick, started to lead the way in a crouched, quick run along the tree line. He took note that everyone was actually doing a pretty good job at keeping their steps light and quiet through the dry and overgrown winter grass beyond the road.

They moved together and quickly as one, and got to the chain link fence quicker than he'd anticipated. He handed his crossbow off to Rick when he realized they'd need something to guard their skin against the sharp razorwire that lined the top of the gates. He stripped off his denim jacket and leather vest quickly, the chill in the air stabbing immediately into his bare arms, and he brought it up to his mouth so he could hold it in his teeth. He grabbed his weapon back from Rick and began to pull himself up onto the barrier alongside Tyreese. The metal fence complained and shook under their weight as they reached the top, and as Daryl threw his jacket over, he looked up and saw that the walkers had, indeed spotted them. He rolled over the top as he shouted back for the others to start making their ascent and jumped down, landing in a crouch like a cat on the other side. Tyreese landed beside him not a second later, giving Daryl a nod of approval as he settled into a defensive stance, waiting for the walkers to begin making their way over.

Thankfully, not many of the dead prisoners and guards had made their way into the fenced corridor that lined the second fence. It gave him a few moments to ready himself with his knife before the first few made their way within striking distance. The curved end of Tyreese's crowbar found the skull of the first walker while Daryl lunged for the second. Both staggering bodies fell to the floor as Glenn's feet made contact with the ground behind him.

"Hurry up, we got more comin'!" Daryl called behind him as he looked further down the line of fences. A half dozen limp bodies were bumbling their way faster than he thought possible. Suddenly Glenn and Maggie were at their sides, bracing themselves along with them for the walkers that would make it to them before Rick and T-Dog could make it over the fence.

Maggie's machete sliced easily through the forehead of a former inmate, and it listed forward and to her left as it fell to the ground, coming uncomfortably close to her. She let out a loud chirp of a yelp and backed up some, leaving Daryl's left exposed briefly. As he jammed his long hunting knife into the rotted temple of another walker, the sick hand of a third clamped down on his shoulder. For a flash he thought it was Rick, doing as he always did, until the hand grew painfully tight on his skin.

"DUCK!" Maggie shouted, and somehow he knew she was talking to him. He sank down just as he heard the snarl in his ear. A second later a severed head fell to the dirt and rolled onto his boot as it continued to gnash its yellowed, disgusting teeth at him. He stood and brought his foot down hard on the face twice, effectively snuffing it. He turned to glare at Maggie and he was met with a remorseful smile.

"Sorry." She apologized as Rick and T-Dog finally made their way over and hopped off the fence.

"You can make up fer it by watchin' mah back a bit better next time." He said tersely as Rick passed the jacket back to him.

"Move!" Rick ordered, and with that, Daryl was on the second fence, making his way up and into the yard quicker than he'd climbed the first. When he'd vaulted down off the fifteen foot high hurdle, the walkers that had been on the other side of the vast yard were already closing in. The first wave of four walkers was only about ten feet away from the foot of the fence. He snatched his bow off his back and fired the bolt that had been loaded into it. It found its mark and he bowed to reload as Tyreese came to his side. He reloaded his weapon and stowed it at his back again as Tyreese smashed the ghoulish face of next geek to traipse up to them. Daryl raised his knife and screwdriver, ready for the next two. By the time they'd dispatched the other two, there was a small heard of about ten, spread out loosely, making their way over.

"We're about to need a hand here, folks." Tyreese's deep voice called to everyone else. Maggie was already over the fence, but she was still standing beneath Glenn whose shoelaces had snagged on the razors.

"C'mon, Glenn!" Daryl barked, looking over his shoulder quickly. Glenn squawked as he fought with own foot.

"Maggie, help them!" he yelped down at her. She backed away from the fence and lined up with the two men as they waited. Rick and T-Dog were already on the fence in an effort to escape a few more walkers that were visible through the chain links. Rick pushed at Glenn to roll him over the side while T-Dog untied his sneaker.

"GO! GO!" T-Dog snapped, fingers trying to work the knot free amongst the sharp barbs. Glenn's foot slid from the shoe and he finally dropped to the ground, falling on his ass. He stood and drew his machete from its sheath as T-Dog dropped next to him with his shoe.

"GUYS!" Daryl snapped again as he raised his knife and crouched. He heard the final member of their party's feet hit the dirt just as the first walker made its way to Tyreese. Soon the other three were among them in a line as they started hacking, hammering, and stabbing away at the dead. They formed into a tight semi-circle and crept slowly to their right, where the door was. Twenty-five feet of open yard stood between them and the slightly ajar door into the belly of the correctional facility. Twenty-five feet that felt like a mile. Daryl's heart slammed against his chest as Tyreese and Glenn drew their ranks tighter next to him. He lashed out again and again as the shuffled slowly towards the portal in the stark, grey wall.

"Stay together!" Rick panted loudly as the droves of the dead crept closer and attacked wildly. Daryl could hear Maggie letting go of a vicious battle cry behind him as she hacked into another head. He'd felled at least ten now, alone, by his count, and more were on their way.

"Move faster!" he growled to the people at his right, bumping into Tyreese a bit to urge him on.

"Tryin'!" Tyreese answered. The man had apparently grown weary of using the crowbar as a bat, and was now jabbing at the dead with the flat sharp end as he plowed forward. It was working well, and he and Rick were finally making progress toward the heavy steel door.

A moment later they'd backed to the wall next to the door. Rick threw it open and illuminated the black tunnel with his flashlight while the others covered his back. Apparently, it was clear for right now, because he started yelling for everyone to get inside. Daryl stood stock, back to him until he felt everyone but Tyreese leave his side. There was a very small break in the flow of walkers, and he turned to glare up at the massive man.

"The fuck is wrong with you, man? Get in there!" he snapped before he lunged forward again with his screwdriver. Tyreese's huge form backed into the dark space with Rick and the others, and finally Daryl began withdrawing his assault on the encroaching corpses. He sheathed his knife and grabbed for the handle of the heavy door and pulled it shut quickly behind him. As he slammed it closed, he heard the dull thump of bodies mashing their weight into it over and over again.

"Everyone okay?" Rick's voice came at a puffed whisper a brief second later. Daryl slumped forward, leaning his forearm against the cold steel hatch that was keeping the walkers at bay, and then dipped his head to rest it against his arm.

"Yeah." He panted, answering for himself, "…Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, my kids. This is the shortest chapter I've done in a long time, and though there isn't much in the way of length, THIS ONE'S GIRTHY. HOOOO HO HO. Yeah. I'm a horrible person.**

**I wanted to get something up and out to you guys today because I'm leaving(OH FUCK) in an hour on vacation. Long roadtrip through the south, and then...I'm going to THE CRAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. That's right. Disneyland(not by choice, mind you...A very good friend of mine is getting hitched, so *obligation*).**

**But yes! STORY. This one is all Pru, and it's pretty dark, so be ready.**

**As for you, my beloved readers, thank you once again for sticking by me and inspiring me! To those of you who reviewed for the first chapter and this one, expect PMs later. I'd reply now, right here, but I legit am about to run the fuck out the door.**

**...If you're at all curious about the carnage that's about to befall the South, however, you feel free to follow me on Twitter. I try to keep the fandom stuff to a minimum, but there's a lot of doggies, and bad jokes, and I can promise you many, many angry rants about humanity as a whole. LuuuCifer**

**And yes. My dog does have a box of PBR on his head...And there *IS* lasagna on the floor in the background.**

**Thank you my lovelies! Enjoy the chapter, and enjoy your week!-Laur**

* * *

She cried out for him softly, and he still wasn't there, despite how hard she'd been pleading the fates.

"Daryl." She whimpered.

The room would have been completely dark had it not been for the small, battery operated camping lantern that must have been sitting in the corner of the cell. Its LED light cast a cool, bluish glow around the otherwise black room that she could feel more than she could see. Not that there was much to see, or that she'd want to lay visage to the oppressive, grim space. Her eyes were still painfully swollen shut from the blow that had broken her nose, and she was almost thankful that there'd be no visual reminders of her situation that she'd have to look upon. The bleeding had since stopped, and an itchy, dried crust of sanguine covered her upper lip, chin, and her throat. She was doing her damnedest not to move now. With every slight adjustment she'd made against the cold, dusty floor of that basement, an excruciating, searing pain would fly up from her left bicep and shoulder, to her neck, and into her brain.

Deacon had finally left long, torturous hours after he started in on her. He'd carved the tattooed flesh of her arm into ribbons, doing as he'd said he would- traced every line with the blade of her own knife, then ravaged her. His final blow had been to raise the cutlass to her face.

"You wan' a new tattoo, beautiful?" he'd asked softly, mockingly, before pressing the sharp edge, once again, into her flesh. She'd not struggled against it as it cut into the skin below her left eye. She'd not cried out. She'd just sat there and winced slightly, unable to dredge up the energy to fight or the emotion now. When he'd spoken up after the fact, she noted, with a small amount of satisfaction, that his words beneath the audible grin had carried the intonation of disappointment.

"There you go," he'd said, "Now you got somethin' to 'member me by…Now you rest up. I'll come see yer sweet ass again tomorrow."

He'd thrown a damp towel over her bare lap and left her then, in the dark, bound to something overhead. The elevation of her arms had quickly helped the shallow, but many, cuts to her skin quickly coagulate, preventing much blood loss. For that, she was simultaneously thankful for and unappreciative of. She didn't want to die in this dank, ancient cell, but at the same time, she didn't want to live to endure what Deacon, Merle, that highfalutin' fuck, The Governor, or any one of his jackals might do to her.

She groaned out a thin whimper from her throat unintentionally as the thoughts began to wander to her friends; the other women from their group that had been taken captive. Where were Michonne, Andrea, and Beth? Were they hurt? In as much pain as she was in? Had they been violated? Did they escape?

…Were they even alive still?

She whimpered again, but this time it wasn't because of the pain. Her heart and mind became heavy with regret. The others had had a chance to make it out of here, not only alive, but uninjured maybe, until she'd gone and done what she had when Merle had told her she wasn't going to be given the same chance…That everything she'd feared would happen to her would; Punishment for the life of some asshole that she'd taken in self-defense. When she'd gored Deacon's hand with the blade, it had been out of pure rage. She hadn't been thinking, and once again with her temper getting the best of her, she'd not only made the situation even worse for herself, but she'd condemned her friends to possible rape, torture, and very likely, death.

"We were almost there." She cried quietly to herself as she sat, blood soaked and cold in that tight, dark space. Emotion, thick with blood and mucus in her throat, softly poured out of her for a long while as she pled to the unhearing ears of her friends for forgiveness, and as she pled to those bars and walls, hoping that they'd melt away.

"Daryl."

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs squeaking open woke her some time later. It could have been a handful of hours, a day, five fucking days…She couldn't know for sure. She tensed immediately, fearing it was Deacon, come back for round two. She growled low in her throat, like a dog warning an intruder not to come any closer, until she realized the footfalls on the rickety planks of wood were much lighter than Deacon's. The person who was now in the room with her tugged the small overhead light's pull, and the dull, yellow shine lit the room.

A sigh from a man came, and then the feet were moving again, towards the cell. She scooted further back, ignoring the excruciating pain that was gnawing at her arm, and continued to try to make as intimidating noise as she could muster.

"I can't tell if you're a corpse or not with you makin' that noise…But you backed up instead of comin' closer, so…" the man said tentatively. She then heard the brief jangle of keys before he undid the bike lock that was keeping the door held shut. The cell's door yawned out a loud iron hum as it swung ajar on its old hinges. The man stepped into the cell and she could feel his presence. He'd surprised her with what he'd said next.

"Goddamn them." He whispered and she felt him crouching down just in front of her now. She kicked out in front of her out of reflex and snapped her teeth like a hungry walker, making it clear that if he dared come too close, she wouldn't hesitate.

"Easy! Shhh! Hey, I'm here to help." He assured as he gently grabbed ahold of her right foot as it weakly kicked at him. Her struggling slowed after a minuet as she grew weak with exhaustion and blood loss.

"Getcha hands off me, ya bastard." She snapped sluggishly, her thick New York Metropolitan accent made thicker by anger, weariness, and her injury. He sighed again and she could hear the frustration in his voice as he cracked the top off a plastic bottle.

"Here, look. I brought you water…I'm not here to hurt you."

She felt the bottle being pressed up against her lips and she turned her head away, briefly, but as the cool liquid splashed against her thirst parched lips and dribbled a bit down her chin, she found herself giving in before she realized it. She drank the bottle down quickly as he tipped it forward for her. She sputtered on it a bit, half way through the bottle in her rush to rehydrate herself and he pulled it back away from her lips so she wouldn't drown on dry land. She choked a bit on the taste of blood in her mouth for a moment.

"Who are you?" she asked weakly, though she had an idea. She thought she'd recognized his voice from earlier. He sighed again and she felt him dabbing at her sore face with a damp cloth or rag. She winced.

"Sorry," he apologized to her for the pain he was inflicting as he wiped the dried mess away from her face, "I'm Eli."

"Ya the one Merle and the rest of them have daggers for?" she rasped.

"I 'spose."

"Why-" she began, but was cut off by another tickle of a cough at the back of her throat. He let her finish before giving her an explanation for his actions.

"Because this isn't right…None of this is."

She groaned a bit, clearly in pain, as a response. _No fucking shit._

He started dabbing lightly at her face again for a few seconds and she began to grow more and more agitated with them man's actions. She tugged her face away sharply, tired of the pain he was causing her with his futile attempt at cleaning the blood away.

"So ya gunna let me go, or what?" she snapped. He sighed once more and she heard him scratch at the stubble on his chin.

"I can't do that…They'll kill me." He said, voice heavy with regret. Oh, this guy was a piece of work.

"So ya came down here to play doctor for a minute and to tell me ya sorry for what ya people are doin' to me and mine? So ya conscience is all free and clear now, ya can go on ya merry way and keep running with the pack?" she laughed morosely, wanting like hell to kick the asshole square in the dick.

"That's not it." He said, voice as heavy again, "I figured you'd want to know about your friends."

Her heart stilled for a beat in her chest, and it felt like the rest of the blood had drained right out of her. Had something happened to them? Had they been executed like the Governor said they would be?

…Did they escape?

"What happened?" she asked, her voice a quivering whisper. If her weight wasn't being held up by whatever she was tied to, she would have collapsed limply against the wall behind her. She didn't know if she wanted to hear what he was going to tell her, and judging by the tone of his voice, it wasn't good news. After an impossibly long moment, Eli opened his mouth again.

"They're fine for now, and in way better shape than you are…That one girl…The black one. She's upstairs on the third floor in the Governor's 'office'…She's been givin' everyone that goes in there hell. She went ballistic last night when she heard you screaming, they said."

She exhaled forcefully and the vice that was crushing her chest came off a bit. What was with the doom and gloom build up he'd given her before telling her that? She shifted her weight on her bare legs and sat up a bit more.

"And the other two? Andrea and Beth? Where are they?" she croaked.

"Upstairs, in a supply closet. Merle was gunna move them somewhere before. Probably either his place or back to the Governor's house, but he was called away. The Governor had him and a few men go on a fuel run this morning, since they didn't come back with any when they brought you back…They all use the shit up like its goin' out of style."

"This morning?" she queried, "What time is it?"

He thought on in for a moment, probably not exactly sure. Time wasn't really kept or paid mind to these days. Morning, noon, evening, and night were accepted approximations. Approximations that she'd gladly take right now. She wanted to know how long she'd been out, and how long he thought they'd have until Merle and the rest of those barbarous fucks came back.

"I'd say it's about noontime, now." He answered finally. She heard his feet shift in the grit on the floor as he adjusted his crouched weight. She worked her puffy eyelids a bit and angled her head up to finally look at him. The swelling had peaked at some point during the night and was starting to calm. She could just about make him out, but her vision was still blurry, and the meager light stung her eyes harshly.

"When are those assholes coming back?"

"No way of telling, really. Sometimes people go out for days. Sometimes only hours. But fuel is getting scarce in these parts and we're starting to have to go further and further out for it…Deacon's still around, though. Left him behind because of his hand… And so's the Governor…He rarely leaves." He explained. She swallowed thickly at the thought of Deacon still being within the town's walls. He could come barging in and down those stairs at any moment.

A chill ran up her back and neck for seemingly now reason and she huffed, settling her head back against the wall as he fell silent in his speaking for a long moment. She heard him move a tiny ways across the floor, more of a lean than actual locomotion. A second later, she felt something brush against the skin on her bare feet and jumped a bit.

"Can you stand?" he asked, looking over to her. He's apparently noticed her shiver and that she was bare from the waist down beneath the filthy, blood-soaked towel on her lap. He was now trying to tug her pants back on for her.

"I don't know." She said honestly when she figured out what he was doing. He grabbed her up by her uninjured arm and she floundered for a beat, partly because she didn't want him touching her, and partly because her legs just didn't want to support her weight.

"Easy," He said as he pushed her shoulders back a bit so she could rest at the wall, "I'm a doctor."

She stilled a bit as he slid her pants back up her legs and she held her breath, still not trusting him. He did up the button at the front for her, probably realizing that doing it one-handed was probably going to be more trouble than what it was worth. When he backed off, she drew her now slack arms to her chest and sat on the stool in the very corner.

"Ya looking for a pat on the back? An award maybe?" she snarked, not caring if he was a doctor, the president, or a goddamn astronaut. He cleared his throat and crouched back down to the floor across the cell from her, back to the bars. He rested his elbows on his knees and she could just make out how he was tipping the bottle of water back and forth, watching the liquid flow from one end to the other.

"I had a couple of those, actually…Awards, I mean. I was a medic, then a doctor for the Army. Three tours in Iraq before all of this shit happened."

She said nothing. She just shifted her weight a bit in her seat, not really caring about what he was saying and enjoying the feel of the cramps leaving her legs and the numbness in her arms subsiding. Her silence though, he apparently been permission enough to continue on with whatever story he was telling.

"…I thought what I'd seen over there was fucked up, yanno? War, death, senseless violence committed on both sides of it…Came home just as this whole thing was starting…Got called away from my wife and daughter when they started doing E-Vac. I told them I'd only be a couple of days. That this would all blow over, and they should just head out to the mountains…Go camping for a little while."

A small, sad laugh mixed with a strangled half-sob escaped his throat, "Camping," he said ruefully as he shook his head, "Camping…"

She sat up a little bit straighter as she again became annoyed with him. Apparently the man sitting in front of her was either simple or the most self-centered person in existence.

"Excuse me if I can't seem to dredge up any fucks to give, right now. I'd say that my situation kind of trumps the one ya're crying about...Everyone's lost people. Ya aren't special."

He sucked in a breath, loudly and rubbed at his face as she strained to look at him past her purple lids.

"You're right...You're right, I'm sorry." he apologized. She huffed, almost feeling bad for the sad sack in front of her as he pawed at his eyes.

"What did ya do?" she asked him suddenly. She watched as his shadow turned its attention back to her.

"What did ya do to make those assholes look at ya the way they do?" she clarified. He let his legs slide out from under him as he settled onto the floor. He was obviously making himself comfortable, now faced with the need to rattle off a long story.

"I was here before they were…Or before they took over, rather."

"Took over?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow at his incomplete explanation, "What was this place?"

"It was just some little town we were sent to help evacuate, but when things started getting really bad, Captain ordered our three platoons to lockdown the perimeter 'til shit cooled down…When it didn't cool down, we kept tight, tried to keep the people inside safe, though, you know how heavy-handed military tends to be…"

She frowned at what he was implying. She heard from a few people that the military had gone in and dropped incendiaries on downtown Atlanta, and shot wildly into crowds of innocent evacuees in the first days of panic that had swept the planet. The world had gone to hell and the people whose job it had been to protect civilian lives had been a bigger threat than the plague itself.

"So, a lot of people, civilians, started speaking out against my C.O.s, and…A lot of people ended up dead. But that one guy, Phil…The Governor. He led a mutiny against us…National Guard and the Army…Killed my C.O.s and most everyone else who wouldn't surrender."

"So you surrendered to them…?" she asked.

"No. Actually, I tried to escape…I wanted to get out. Find my wife and my daughter, but they caught me trying to climb over the fence behind the Wal-Mart…Where no one usually patrols. When they realized it was me, they uh, just decided to keep me around…Being a doctor and all, I guess I'm a pretty hot commodity, these days." He shrugged, "I can't decide if I'm lucky that they spared me, or if I'm fucked."

She scoffed, but her she agreed with the sentiment, her situation being what it was, and all. Nothing was said for a few good minutes as she tried desperately to get a good look at the man whose face was backlit and blurry. She lifted her bloody arm a bit, trying to keep the wounds from sticking uncomfortably to her shirt, but the stretching of the skin caused her such pain that she flinched and reflexively stomped her foot hard against the stone floor. He moved back over to her at that point, trying to comfort or aide her. She didn't know what he could possibly do to relieve her pain or better the situation, aside from letting her go…Which he'd already said he wouldn't do.

"You're bleeding again," He mumbled uselessly. She grimaced and allowed him to inspect the wounds. Despite the fact that he was extremely gentle and careful when he moved her arm, it still sent shockwaves of pain through her body. She felt like someone had sent her arm through a woodchipper. "This needs to be cleaned out and bandaged."

"So do it already." She said lamely, rubbing away the tears that were threatening to spill from her eye and into the insignia Deacon had branded her with.

"I can't. Like I said, if they find out I helped you, they'll kill me."

She kicked at him so violently that it when she missed she fell off the stool and slammed hard into the wall. The impact on her already sore ribs where Deacon had dealt her a few punches along with the ripples of the movement that traveled to the shredded skin as her weight tugged down on her sore arm on the other side of her body caused her to cry out in pain. It was loud and guttural; a heaving sob.

"Shhh! Dammit! You want someone to hear you?!" he chided, hefting her body up off the floor and back onto the stool, "Stop! You're gunna ruin whatever chances we have for getting' out of here if you keep carryin' on."

She sucked in a breath and tried her best to stop her pained bawling.

"What did ya just say?" she asked him, voice hitching.

"We're gunna get out of here…Me and you. And your friends…But it's not the right time now…We can't do it during the day."

"I thought ya said ya couldn't because they'd kill ya?"

"Yeah, well…Sudden change of heart. I need to find my family…And you…None of you deserve to die like this. No one does." He said earnestly.

"I can think of a few people who do." She muttered. It pulled the faintest of humored snorts from him as he turned to retrieve the water bottle from the floor where he'd left it.

"Here. Finish this." He said as he raised the water back to her lips and allowed her to drink the cool water into her thirsty mouth. When she finished she pulled away from it with a refreshed gasp, and she felt him, once again, going back to dap at her face. Less annoyed by the action now than she had been, she allowed him to do it, though it still caused her to withdraw when he pressed too firmly against a few particular spots.

"…Why do ya even care about helping us?" she asked quietly, feeling as low as a snake that she'd tried to kick him a moment ago. She looked back up to the dark shape of the man, and for a moment, her hazy vision almost made her think that she was looking up at Rick's kind features, though the man she'd seen before looked nothing like him. Eli sighed and turned around and headed back to the heavy door.

"Like I said. Nobody deserves this…And your friends…Andrea and Beth?" he asked. She cocked her head just slightly in askance.

"…They look like my wife and my daughter." He smiled sadly. Pru tried to return the smile, but it showed across her face as a grimace.

He closed the iron bars back up and fastened the bike lock back where it had sat before he'd opened it up.

"You hang in there, you hear me? We're gettin' gone as soon as we can. Don't let him break you yet." He said, and it was an _order_. It was firm and clear and very military, betraying his background. He turned around, not waiting for her to answer, and headed back to the foot of the stairs and tugged that pull string again, plunging the dreary dungeon back into blackness. As his feet found their way back up the old wooden steps, she let her back slump against the wall.

There was still hope. Infinitesimal hope, but hope nonetheless.

"…Daryl."


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, this has taken me long enough, hasn't it? Did you guys think I'd leave you hanging? = )**

**I survived my roadtrip to Florida, a few hikes through bear & gator infested swamps(barefoot, no less! You should see my feet!), I ate boiled peanuts, and wore a fucking sick dress to a wedding in Mickey Mouse Land. All & all, it was a pretty successful vacation...Except for the part where I got ZERO writing done. Hence, the long wait. I apologize. But I'm back now, & I hope you're ready for more action!**

**When we last left our heroes, Pru had just found an unlikely ally who promised he would help her and the others escape from Woodbury. In this chapter, we're back with Daryl & Company inside the prison, and they're about to go looking for some heavy artillery as well as a home base inside.**

**I'M A BAD FIC-PAL, GUYS. I KNOW. I promised PMs to those of you who've reviewed, but GUYS. My fucking MIND lately. I cannot focus on anything. So, let me thank you guys personally, right here, right now, while I'm thinking about it because honestly, you make me feel so awesome and I need you guys to know that. **

**LadyLecter47: Thank you so much and I'm glad to see YOU continuing to read! **

**Emberka-2012: I'm so glad you're sticking around and enjoying yourself. You're exactly right, too. Pru does believe in Daryl more and still has faith that he'll find her, but right now, she'll take any help she can get. Hell, I would if I were in her situation. Life is what happens when you sit around making other plans...Or in this case, LIFE IS WHAT SLIPS AWAY WHEN YOU SIT AROUND MAKING OTHER PLANS, right?**

**felinebabe: OH GOD I LOVE YOU'RE ENTHUSIASM XD I read your review and cracked a smile from ear to ear. Thank you, dear, and I assure you, you'll enjoy where the next couple chapters take us. Thanks for the awesome review, and DEF let me know how you like this one!**

**SimpleWickedWriter: YOU. *Points* Yeah, you. I have so much to thank you for. I always feel really confident after reading one of your reviews because YOUR work is fucking impeccable. I know that I can get a good sense of characterization from you(i.e. when you told me that I had done a good job with Carol. I had been second guessing myself on that bit, don'cha know.), flow, and a good kick in the ass as far as confidence goes. I'm so glad you enjoy reading and I am honest to Jeebus flattered as hell that you like where I've taken this. AND SON OF A BITCH YOU MAKE ME LAUGH MY ASS OFF. MY ASS. OFF. There it is. On the floor. You DID that. Thanks for every. Yes, "every".**

**ALL YOU OTHER PEEPS: I know you're reading, and I want you to know how much I appreciate your Favorites and Follows. When I get those little alert emails it makes my day! Keep 'em comin, and feel free to review or PM with questions or comments! I want to hear from you guys!**

**Now onto the chapter. Love & licks(sluuuurp).- Laur**

* * *

"Well, we just gunna stand 'round all day?" he growled faintly from the back of the pack as he pulled himself away from the hatch to the outside world. They were all still out of breath from the close call they'd just had with the countless walkers that were still trying to get in the heavy security door behind them. Muffled moans, clawing sounds, and thuds continued to come from just on the other side of the two inch thick metal door and along with it, Daryl could imagine the cacophony of snapping bones that would have been heard as the weight of the small herd was pressing and slamming each other against the wall of the prison. The hallway they were standing in was long, narrow, and impossibly black, and though, as he and Rick shone their flashlights down the length of it, checking for the dead and saw nothing, the air in the building was thick with their oppressive presence.

Rick, doubled over with his hands on his knees in an attempt to slow his breathing and calm his nerves, looked back to him and raised a hand. His eyes all but screamed annoyance as he gestured to the edgy hunter to calm down and give everyone a second to collect themselves. Daryl, ready to press on as always, sneered at the blood smeared walls and paced in place. He bounced from one foot to the other, waiting for everyone else to catch up as he stood in the same damn spot. He cursed under his breath and it earned him another glare from Maggie.

"Waitin' in this hallway fer somethin' to wander on by an' corner us, is what." He said a bit louder, though his growling and pacing was now being largely ignored. Rick stood back to full height and Daryl watched as the other man continued to pant a bit and met everyone's eyes in succession, taking inventory of their group and making sure no one was visibly injured or about to lose their minds after their narrow escape.

"We all good?" he asked a moment later, finally removing his eyes from Daryl's and following their flashlights' beams up the hallway where they hit off a filthy wall with old, iron-browned blood smeared across it. Daryl huffed and pushed forward roughly, mashing his shoulder into Tyreese, though it was completely unintentional. He'd not let anyone think that, however. He was amped up and pissed off that this was only the beginning of this dirty, dangerous task, and Tyreese was still Tyreese. A newcomer, not to be trusted, and one more ass to cover instead of watching his own…Even though he'd just done it without even thinking about it, letting the much larger man escape into the assumed safety of the hall before closing himself in as well.

Tyreese let out a slight grunt and it alerted Rick to Daryl's approach.

"Yeah, we're all good. Now-" Daryl snapped quietly in response to the former deputy's question, but as Rick turned around and had seen Daryl move towards him after tossing his weight into Tyreese, annoyance crowded out his breathless lack of expression and he put a hand up, catching Daryl by front of the shirt with it, and curled his fingers into the fabric. Daryl stopped his press immediately and met the eyes of the man of equal height before him, face only barely visible in the grey space. His eyes were almost glowing red with vexation and anger.

"Now you listen to me, Daryl," Rick began, voice dark and seething, "I know you feel like you have more to lose than any of us right now, but you're _wrong._ You hear me? Our people…Our _family _are _all _on the line if we go blowing through here without our heads screwed on tight…Now I know this isn't exactly your idea of what we should be doing right now or how we should be doing it, but this is the way it's happening…This isn't like when we went looking for Merle in Atlanta, and I can't have you acting like it is, I need you to cooperate with me. With _everyone_…I need you to help keep everyone safe…"

Daryl stared back at his friend for a long, silent, unmoving moment. He'd never seen Rick look so angry before…But it wasn't pure anger. It wasn't rage. There were other emotions mixed in behind their leader's eyes. Emotions that made the look that much more gut wrenching. Betrayal and desperation.

Actually, he _had_ seen him look that kind of angry before. He'd seen it during Rick's many arguments with Shane towards the end…That _'Why the hell won't you just help me out, man? Why can't you just have my back?'_ look. Daryl hadn't meant to stir that shit back up for Rick. That fucking pain. The frustrating lack of cooperation.

The regret he was now feeling was like a kick to his sternum. The pain was manifesting physically. He grimaced, tucking his upper lip back behind his lower and then chewed at it again.

_Our family._

The realization speared him and almost knocked him off his feet. His squared shoulders slumped, his chest deflated, and he wavered a bit where he stood. That was what they were now. All of them. These damned people, even the ones he didn't know or like very much, treated him better than any single member of the family he'd been born into. He let out a long, surrendering breath through his flared nostrils, and with that Rick's scowl softened and he brought his hand up to the back of Daryl's neck and squeezed. He winced a bit at the brotherly show of thanks and affection, not accustomed to it at all, but he bowed his head and allowed it.

It was just then that his keen ears picked up an infinitesimal sound just beyond Rick's back in the dark. Rick hadn't heard it, and neither had any of the other members of the group. Without thinking or waiting to hear the sound again, Daryl grabbed Rick by his right shoulder and forced him down and behind him roughly, unintentionally tossing him into the far wall as he brought his flashlight back up just in time.

The walker before him, now caught in the beam produced by the light in his hand, was as big as Tyreese but more muscular. Long years of hard time with the only recreation available to the former inmate being weightlifting had carved the decomposing body in front of him into an imposing monster. The bilious arms of the dead man stretched forth and grabbed for Daryl's shoulder, slamming him into the other wall. He could feel the nails of the powerful, rotting hand clawing into the fabric of his shirt, and in his mind, he was begging that those jagged nails wouldn't make it through that thin, brown cotton and into his flesh.

As the shouts of the people around him reached his ears, he became aware of just why no one had heard the growls from such a massive cadaver as it made its way up that hall in the shadows. The fucker's chest had been cracked open like the shell of a crab and eaten out. So had the throat and the meat up and along its mandible. Daryl's hand-the one holding onto the flashlight- was mashed up into the exposed musculature and shredded biology on its neck in an attempt to hold the gnashing jaws at bay as he reached for the knife at his hip. His arm was pinned, though, between the cold, cinderblock wall and the thick, meaty hand of the walker who was planning on making him lunch. As the thing pressed, the hard metal frame of his crossbow dug into his back sharply. A pained cry of desperation made its way past his gritted teeth as he tried to kick free from the thing's solid grip.

He felt his own well-muscled arms protesting and losing the fight against the weight he was holding away from him. His fist, balled around the handle of the light, sank deep into the open throat of the walker. He could just about feel the son of a bitch's vertebra against his knuckles as the pitch colored gore engulfed his hand. Those teeth were drawing near. And quick. He yelped again.

And suddenly the thick, wasted hands were ripped from his body as a flash of light blew past his face and a loud grunt echoed off the narrow walls. He hadn't realized the thing had lifted his feet from the floor until the failed to catch his weight when he crashed back down. He kicked away, still shaken and not fully knowing how he'd gotten out of that mess, and his flashlight rolled out of his hand and bumped into Rick's knee, as he still lay sprawled against the other wall. As the light wobbled around and rolled across the floor, it illuminated Tyreese as he brought the sharp end of the crowbar down on the dead man's head one final time. The feet, closer to Daryl then they were to the man on top of the body, twitched one final time as the vague façade of life left it once and for all.

Daryl quickly grabbed for his abandoned flashlight as Tyreese rose up off the body and he shined it back down the dark corridor. There weren't any others making their way to them. Not _yet_ anyway.

"You good?" the deep voice came. There was a dark-skinned hand at his eye level then, offered to hoist him back to his feet. Daryl stared at the hand for a moment, then looked back down the hall, then up to Tyreese's eyes. After hesitating for a moment, he finally allowed him to help him to his feet.

"What took you so long?" Daryl snapped out of breath as he squinted up at the newcomer, though it was only half-hearted. Tyreese seemed to get it. When his feet were planted firmly back beneath him, he looked back up the much larger man and he gave him a small nod of gratitude. Tyreese answered it with a small smile before turning to help Rick back to his feet.

"I knew I recognized your black ass…" T-Dog's voice broke from the back of the pack. Daryl's attention snapped around to him and then back to Tyreese, who T-Dog was now pointing at, "…Center line. For the Falcons, right?" T-Dog finished his thought. Tyreese nodded as he wiped the gore on his hands across his shit.

"In another life…"

Daryl looked between the two men once more before exchanging a glance with Rick and rolled his eyes.

"Get his autograph later, man…Whole slew'a those stumlin' bastards prob'ly heard just now." He said as he clapped Tyreese on the bicep and hoisted his crossbow higher onto his shoulder. He didn't catch the set of contagious smiles that spread between everyone as he began making his was down the hall.

"C'mon now." Daryl called.

**. . .**

He didn't know how many hours they'd been in there. And he was pretty sure, with his limited fucking education, he wasn't even able to count to the mounting number of walkers they'd all offed. He was soaked with sweat and black blood, and so was everyone else. Exhaustion was nipping at their heels now, the lot of them. They'd all swept through what parts of the compound they could with a sense of urgency on unyielding feet. He watched everyone now as they pulled their fatigued bodies up the metal staircase above him into the armory and recounted the day's horrific events and encouraging victories.

They'd tried to make a sweep of the entire facility, but good chunks of it were so overrun that they knew, while it was only them, they'd never have any realistic shot at clearing it out totally, or even putting a dent in the numbers. Not really. Rick had told them as they went that he'd heard, sometime last year before all of this, that the prisoner population here was damn near overflowing and barely manageable at all. By the looks of it, the rumors had been true. Men had been crammed into this building and had been living on top of each other before the dead started walking.

They'd wound their way through the dark passages and halls trying to find the ideal spot. A place to clear out and hunker down in. A place where they'd be safe from the outside world as well as the horrors that lurked within the same walls they planned on inhabiting.

As luck would have it, towards the end of their little mission, they'd found a place that fit the bill. Cell Block 'D', as it had apparently been referred to as, was smaller than most of the others, and cleaner, even, though the dark tones of grey and black that everything was painted made it hard to tell in the fading light that was coming through the windows. Daryl could tell easily that this was one of the oldest parts of the facility. It hadn't been made to house as many inmates as it had in more recent years. It was at the back of the property, in the east wing. Every cell block, they'd found, was self-sufficient with their own kitchens and shower rooms. Each wing even had its own generator so the doors to the cells could be opened and closed, if needed, during a power outage. What shocked them all—in a good way- was that the infirmary was close by the armory that they were now in, just a short walk through the wing, and on the same side of the main building. It would be perfect.

They'd cleared each of the rooms and even storage closets, the floor of the mess hall, and had worked on making sure all the cells had been empty. Most of them had been, but the ones that weren't…Well, they'd be dealt with later. Rick had found a few pairs of abandoned handcuffs lying about or attached to the hips of some of the rotting prison guards. He'd use them to temporarily lock the doors to the rooms that they'd cleared. The bolt cutters in the jeep would make quick work of them later. Just so long as they didn't have to worry about leaving for a bit and coming back into a room full of unexpected guests.

Daryl pulled himself from his thoughts and stepped with his booted foot onto the first metal step, and ascended towards another set of administrative offices and the armory with the rest of his people. He hoped to hell that there'd be something left in there for them to use when they stormed Woodbury. He imagined that when the shit had hit the fan that the guards, and even some of the prisoners, had tried to get at the weapons and use them for protection.

"Fat lotta good that done." He muttered to himself quietly as he looked around the dark, open space at the bodies strewn around that they'd just finished off and wiped absently at the slick, blood covered vest he was wearing. He grimaced and moved his hand to the back of his pants to deposit some of the mess on his filthy hands there.

He reached the top of the steps and stopped behind Glenn and Maggie whose bodies blocked the path to the door just ahead.

"What's the hold up?" he groused as he pushed lightly at Glenn's back. Glenn turned to him, his mouth crooked and hesitant and just nodded to the closed door back over his shoulder.

_Thump_

_Thump-Thump_

_BANG_

Daryl nudged through Glenn and Maggie and sidled up between T-Dog and Tyreese, locking worried eyes with Rick as he got to the top of the stairs. He looked down at the bodies of three men that were backed up to the door of the armory. The tops and backs of their heads were blown out and all over the slate grey paint that covered the door. Apparently, they'd felt that they'd had no other options left, and the dark, bloody fingerprints lining the edge of the door and the jamb where decomposing fingers had reached and clawed through the gap in the portal from the inside were clues as to why. The slumped bodies of the dead men- two guards, one inmate- shifted with the weight and force of however many walkers were trying to clamor out to them.

_Sonovabitch. Can nothin' be fuckin' simple anymore?_

There was a faint cracking sound coming from the long-dead bodies, as well, mummified in the cool, dry shelter of prison walls for many months. It was a sad reminder of just how long they'd all been at this, living new lives in this day to day hell. Yeah, this place was probably one of the first places to fall to it. Death, from what he'd been told by his brother and bar buddies, was a common occurrence in a prison.

They'd sat here, suspended in time, since the beginning of it. Since the first days of this Armageddon. Back before their time at the ranger station, before the farm, before he'd met Pru. Before they had lost Sophia to the walkers on that cemetery highway, and before the CDC, and Atlanta and the Quarry. They'd sat here in silence, dead centauries, guarding a tomb full of flesh hungry ghouls since back when Merle was still his brother and they still lived in that shoddy tarpaper shack that belonged to their Daddy. Life had ended for these poor fucks when Daryl's had only just been beginning.

"Fuck." He muttered.

_THUNK_

_Creeeak_

"How many you think are in there?" Rick winced at the sound. A few sets of hands crept around the corner of the door again, and the hissing became audible. Light from the windows kissed off a thick, gold wedding band on a shriveled, grey finger. Daryl squinted at it and curled his lip in distaste.

"No way'a knowin',"

_BOOM_

The bodies in front of the door shifted again as the walkers inside became more agitated and the group recoiled a bit, feeling as if the door was about to fly off the hinges.

"I ain't come this far to leave without them guns, though."

Rick nodded and backed to the left of the door, dragging Tyreese with him. He took Rick's cue and stepped off to the other side with T-Dog and then nodded to Glenn and Maggie who were still standing on the stairs directly in front of the door. Everyone readied themselves. Weapons were drawn and raised in preparation for their assault. Daryl and Tyreese both dipped and each grabbed one of the corpses by their torn and stained collars to drag their weight from in front of the door. The last body-fuck it- it would hold just long enough for the both of them to right themselves.

He and Tyreese exchanged a silent count to three and then hefted the dead weight towards them, clearing the path of the door. Almost immediately the gap between the door and the jamb began to grow as the stiffs pressed their way through. Everyone held their breath waiting for a few of them to make their way out a few steps to the bait, Glenn and Maggie. Spindle thin, waxy arms reached out to the two young lovers who waited like coiled snakes on the steps and Daryl felt T-Dog fly forward beside him as one particularly zealous walker lunged its way through the crowd. And with that, everyone advanced with their weapons and began hacking and stabbing away at the skulls.

Despite them all being burnt out, after a day spent at each other's backs, they worked as a well-oiled machine. It was over in a few seconds. There had only been seven, thankfully. The last one fell after Daryl pulled his knife from its temple. The suction sound was both satisfying and unsettling as the thing buckled to the floor. No sooner did it fall was he peering into the room to confirm its emptiness. And it was and it wasn't all at the same time. Empty of walkers, but packed to the gills with the prizes of firearms, ammunition, and body armor that they had come for. His chest swelled and a true grin spread across his face as he wiped his gory knife on his thigh, stowed it, and walked heavily over the bodies blocking the entrance. Riot shields, were stacked on a rack at the back of the room and there were shelves and shelves of guns and batons and ammo.

"Bags! Maggie! Glenn!" he urged as he started grabbing up the boxes of bullets and small hand guns, first. Rick and the others were right behind him, taking up the larger arms and inspecting them. It was everything they needed. Automatic weapons, tear gas canisters…Everything.

They'd only filled the two small backpacks initially. It was all they needed to get themselves back out of the prison to collect the rest of the group. They'd be back shortly and there was no sense lugging a ton of this stuff around.

He looked over to Rick and the corner of his lips tugged upward on one side and the other man returned the smile with one of his own.

"I'd say we're pretty set." Rick said as he loaded a shotgun.

"Quit temptin' the fates, dumbass." Daryl said, as he grabbed for a set of walkie-talkies, though he couldn't help but smile a bit wider as he said it. He turned the nob on the first of the two and static hissed out and filled the room. He turned the second on and it answered with its own hiss, before he pressed down on the button and a loud cry of feedback bit at their ears. He grunted in annoyance and tossed the second over to his friend who chuckled and turned the volume down.

Once everyone was locked and loaded, it was time to devise an exit plan. In one of the offices flanking the armory, on the wall, Glenn, the strategic genius that he was, had located a minimalistic map diagraming all of the exits. There was one just down the hall, through cafeteria, and to the left down another hall. It wasn't the closest, but it was the one that _didn't _go back out into one of those goddamned yards full of walkers. No, this one went out through a small loading dock that had been used to bring loads of food and supplies into the kitchen area. With any luck, that area would be relatively clear and they'd be able to lock it down.

" Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog, ya'll go back and get everyone ready to move. You father will want to know you're safe sooner rather than later," Rick said without taking his eyes off the map, but clearly aiming the last bit at the girl, "The rest of us will stay behind after we see you out safely. Work on get this mess cleaned up before the women have to see it…Then we'll see about finding Woodbury and scouting it out after sundown."

Daryl nodded absently at the plan and adjusted the strap across his chest. It was all he needed to hear. He set off walking out of the office followed by the rest. They all made their way over the pile of bodies and down the stairs, onto the main floor, and into the hall. A brisk walk later and the troop was at the exit, poised and ready to barge through, Rick and Daryl at the helm.

"Stay quiet. Don't want them flooding in and making it so we can't get back in." Rick reminded, putting his back to the door. He tested the door, pushing at it to see if the lock had held after the power had gone out. It hadn't.

"Let us know when you're back, we'll come back out and make sure you get in alright." Rick said as he handed his walkie off to Maggie.

"Got it." She answered as she attached it to her belt.

A second later, after Daryl watched him meet everyone's gaze, he was pushing through the door and they were running down the ramp. There was one immediately ahead, which Rick dispatched with a quick whack to the head with the broad blade of the machete. Daryl picked off another as they made a run for the set of rolling gates that kept the dock sealed in safely, past an overturned bus that was almost blocking their way. The area was sparsely populated, mostly by fallen guards who'd tried to escape but ultimately met their end by the jaws of one another. There was only ten or so. Once the yard had been cleared, Daryl, Tyreese, and Rick were rolling the first gate back and out of the way just enough to allow the other three to squeeze through. T-Dog stopped them before they could make their way through the second fence.

"We got it from here. Ya'll just get back inside." He assured as he locked eyes with Daryl. He nodded and started pushing the heavy gate closed again with Rick and Tyreese's as the trio ran off towards the second gate, taking out the hungry, shambling bodies that approached them as they went. They watched them roll the much heavier, solid gate open and then shut again, and Daryl randomly remembered that he had packed up a few thick chains and padlocks into the jeep that would work well to hold these gates shut once the cars arrived. Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog disappeared quickly around the thick wall after that, and the three men stood silent for a moment.

A crackling sound came through the radio at Daryl's hip and Maggie's voice could be heard.

"Clear. Be back soon." She panted into the speaker as she and the other two made a run for the Suburban, and they all let go of a breath they'd all been holding simultaneously.

"Let's get back in and get to work." Rick said quietly, walking away from the gate, clearly eager to make some headway. Daryl pulled his filthy hands from the chain link gate and followed back up the ramp.

**. . .**

Twenty minutes had passed and they'd already had a good number of bodies out in the gravel lot beneath the loading dock. They'd started in the cell block, making sure to have the place cleared for the others when they arrived, so that it wouldn't trouble anyone to know just how many had been in here, and so they weren't unloading supplies into to place while tripping over bodies.

"We'll burn these tomorrow or something…When we come back and figure out a plan for getting the girls back." Rick said breathlessly as he began dragging yet another corpse from the top of the metal staircase as Daryl climbed past him. He grunted, acknowledging what the other had said, as he watched Tyreese dragging two more bodies out of the wide room and into the hall. The man was a fucking beast. There was no other word for it really. He'd done the same amount of work that he and Rick had done, in the same amount of time, and the man wasn't even winded yet.

"Goddamnit." Daryl breathed, bending to grab another body up underneath its limp arm once he'd made it to the top of the steps again. He began tugging the body back towards the stairs, the beginning of another trip back outside to deposit the thing. He made it down the first two steps and the sound of the thing's head jarring against the metal staircase as he pulled it along bounced around the room.

There was a crack; a crack that didn't sound anything like that of the cranium bouncing off the black painted metal stairs. As Daryl turned his attention to the sound in mid-step, he felt the arm he had been gripping going slack as his weight continued it heft it forward. Suddenly the world around him was slowing to a halt as he felt his foot leaving the spot where it had been planted. He looked to his own hand, the one that had been holding fast to the forearm of the body he had been moving, and it was now holding onto that, and only that. Daryl looked at it, trying to make sense of the situation in his head as gravity's strong pull dragged him down. The dried, decaying body of the man he had been moving had come apart under the stress of being moved, and in that fraction of a second, as the dawning finally struck him, time sped back up to its natural pace. He didn't even have time to catch himself or cry out before the side of his head impacted the railing and his vision went bright with the absence of color.

_Daryl._

A heart beat thudded around him.

_DARYL._

The sound faded in and out like someone was messing with the volume of a stereo that was playing a fucked up, broken song. His eyelids felt like they'd been weighted down with sandbags, but he rolled them open, and the fuzzy shape of a man was over him. Then two men. Then more shapes that may or many not have been people. He tried to get his eyes to focus, but they disobeyed. He felt a tug at his waist band, and some shouted syllables that were meant to be words but between his ears and his mind, the meaning was lost.

Another flash.

_-ith us, son?_

He felt himself being lifted, but everything stayed white and soundless.

Another flash.

He opened his eyes and Carol was over him. Her lips were moving, but everything was on mute and she was looking worried but he didn't understand why.

"The hell are you gawkin' at, woman?" he'd meant to say. Only his lips never moved and he didn't realize it. He watched as she tilted her head, looking puzzled and sad. And then, instead of a flash of white, this time black mist crowded in from his periphery and he felt himself sinking, and he allowed the feeling to swallow him up like the dark waters of an angry sea would a ship, lost and alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Almost 8,000 words in a day and a half? Can you tell what I spent my weekend doing? I'll keep this brief, as my last A/N was huge and ranty.**

**I have a feeling you guys may enjoy this chapter. And then hate it. And then hate it MORE. We're back with the girls for this one, and a lot is about to happen, so I hope you're ready for it.**

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading and keeping tabs, and thank you to everyone who reviewed and Favorited and Followed! I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and I hope you keep letting me know it! Much love, everyone!- Laur = )**

**DISCLAIMER: The Walking Dead and its character, plots, concepts, yadda yadda yadda, are not mine and in now way belong to me. At all. Thanks for not suing! **

* * *

The floor of the tiny, old cell was fluid now. It had become that way while she'd passed out at some point. She couldn't remember which time it had been that he'd squeezed her wounded arm so tightly that the pain just caused her eyes to cross and then close for hours. She'd woken again in the same dark space, with her arms still bound, and the pain still whipping through her body like an electrical current. She felt tiny bolts of lightning pain leaving her finger tips and absently wondered why the sparks just weren't lighting up the bleak space around her.

She'd lost hope. It hadn't just been another day that she'd been down there. She wasn't sure exactly how long it had been, but it was more than a day. She'd been certain. Fuck. Deacon had even tried to get her to _eat _something at some point.

Eli wasn't going to help get her out of here.

Andrea, Michonne, and Beth were dead.

Daryl wasn't coming. He'd forgotten her. Abandoned her. Left her to die alone.

Her head felt heavy and painful, and with every miniscule movement, she felt like the business end of a spiked, medieval mace was smacking around against the inside of her skull. Her tongue was dry and caked to the roof of her mouth. It tasted of foul, soured blood. She spat the taste away and then tried to clear her blood and mucus-clogged sinuses with a sharp snort. The pain was too much, though, and it caused her to cry out and moan. As the tears rolled down her face and stung the wounds there, she chanced a look over at her arm, but could barely see anything because of the lack of light. All she knew was that it was frozen and on fire at the same time.

_Why am I sweating? It's fucking freezing down here._

She rolled her head to the side and pushed her bare ass back along the floor so she could prop her tired body against the wall. She'd been awake for mere seconds, but it had been a tiring few seconds. She could hear sleep and pain whispering in here ear, advising her to indulge once again and allow herself to slip away into unconsciousness.

It was then that she heard a faint thud from far above, up past the cobwebbed beams in the low ceiling, beyond the first floor. Somewhere above that. It barely registered to her at first. It wasn't until a few beats later did it strike her as odd. There was the sound or rushing footsteps, back and forth a few times up above. She raised her head and glared up at the ceiling, telling it in her mind to shut up and quit its groaning under the heavy footfalls.

When the first set of noisy feet was joined by a second pair, and they began rushing down the staircase up on the main floors of the building, it really piqued her curiosity. No one moved like that around here. Everyone's footsteps were heavy and deliberate. Sure of what they were doing, and unrushed. No one rushed around Woodbury. Not unless something was wrong, she decided. She squinted up through the blackness and followed the sound with her eyes as if she could see the feet traveling hurriedly from room to room. The two people split up. The heavier set of boots went to what she remembered to be the open assembly area just off to the left of the foyer. The lighter set went farther towards the back of the building.

Suddenly there were voices. Muffled ones that were distinctly female. They were hushed, but in the quiet of the old building, she was able to tell who they belong to immediately. She sat up a bit, eager, hopeful, and bravely ignoring the pain once the sound reached her eardrums and bounced off her memory.

_Andrea and Michonne._

Seconds later the two new sets were moving behind what she now believed to be Michonne's footsteps, and it confirmed for her that both Andrea and Beth were alive and safe. Somehow, for the first time in days, she tried and succeeded at standing of her own accord, bolstered by the hope that she'd let go of as it suddenly swelled back into her heart and mind. They all ventured forward in a tight mass to the front of the building, and for a fleeting moment, her heart stopped pumping. She thought they were going to leave her behind.

"Wait!" she rasped, barely audible to even her own ears, the rope, tight on her wrists growing taut as she lurched forward on weak limbs. But the shuffling stopped as the fourth pair of feet rejoined the rest, and soon they were moving quickly, deeper into the building once more. Back to what she knew to be the cellar door. A shuddered, relieved breath escaped her lungs and she had to hold onto the rope above her head to keep from toppling over.

The door was opening and light rushed in from the floor above as eight feet were hurrying down those old boards. Those poor excuses for stairs.

"Watch your heads, now. C'mon, hurry." Eli's voice came from the rear. She watched the legs move on steps and counted down the number of movements it would take for them to reach the floor. When the three women would have been in full view they paused in the dark. Michonne's shadow groped helplessly for the pull that would turn the small overhead bulb on for a moment before Eli pushed through and yanked at the cotton twine.

The light stung her eyes, and in the same beat of her heart, she heard the gasps. Her friends had not seen her since the night they'd arrived. Beth's hand came to her mouth.

"Oh my god." Andrea shuddered as she took in Pru's bare, bruised, and bloodied body. Her eyes were no longer swollen and puffy, but between the deep, purple and yellow raccoon spectacles around her eyes, the cuts marring her skin, and the other bruises all over her thighs and torso, she was a ghastly sight. Easily mistaken for a walker.

"That good, huh?" Pru asked. Her voice didn't even sound like her own as she tried to joke through the pain and the severity of the situation. No one moved for second despite confirmation that she was not undead. Shock, fear, disgust, and anger glued their feet to the old foundation.

Then the ever stoic Michonne swallowed thickly and darted to the door, instantly remembering why the hell they'd come down here. To escape.

"You gunna be able to walk?...Run?" she asked Pru while unlocked the bike lock that was still holding the iron bars shut. In the light, now, Pru could see that Michonne, too, was sporting a few sore, swollen spots on her face, as well, and was walking with a bit of a limp.

"We're about to find out, aren't we?" she answered with a question of her own, watching Eli as he joined Michonne at the door. He was in first and immediately at her side, looking her over.

"We can't have you pushin' yourself too hard, now," he said as he checked her pulse at her wrist and then her pupils with a small pen light. She yanked her face away from the biting light in her eyes and he put his hand to her forehead and then cheek, "That arm's infected. You've got a fever."

"Well, I'll just fly the fuck out of here on my magic carpet, then. Thanks, Eli." She said sarcastically as Michonne helped her step into her pants. He shook his head at her.

"You could go into shock." He warned.

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." She assured him as she steadied herself against Michonne's back. She watched Andrea smile sadly as she wiped at a tear that was rolling down her cheek, "Let's just worry about getting out of this mess in one piece, first."

"Beth gimmie that shirt," Michonne whispered over her shoulder, "C'mon, quick."

Beth pushed her way into the cell and laced her hands through the neck of a huge, thick sweatshirt and raised it to pull it down over her head. Pru's eyes went wide at it, as if Beth were shoving a rattlesnake in her face and asking her to kiss it on the snout.

"I dunno about that shirt with my arm." She said, pulling away from it like a horse balking at a steeple chase jump.

Beth and Michonne stopped and exchanged an unsure glance. They obviously didn't want to cause her more pain, but she needed to put something on. The autumn weather outside was probably damp and cold; the kind of cold that seeped through your skin and soaked into your bones. She couldn't go out in that. Not in the state she was in.

Michonne stood up suddenly and pulled her katana off her back and handed it over to Eli before undoing the clasp on her cloak. She dropped the cloak and yanked her own sleeveless shirt over the head and took the heavy hoodie from Beth and pulled it over her own herself quickly.

"Here," she said grabbing the shirt back up, and holding it out so Pru could slip her injured face through the opening, "Put this on. Watch your nose."

Michonne pulled the clothing down and Pru pushed her good arm through it. She looked over at her friend again, not looking forward to moving her injured wing.

"It's okay, we'll do it quick. Like a band-aid." Michonne said softly. Pru nodded and firmed her lips into a thin line, then blew a long breath out her mouth. She began to raise her arm and the cuts in her raw skin drew tight and began seeping. She stifled her scream through gritted teeth while sucking in sharp breaths. The thin fabric brushing over the small, interconnected channels in her skin felt like someone was grinding rough grained sandpaper against them.

"Fuuuuck." She seethed as a tear rolled down her cheek. Her breaths were ragged and her heart felt like it was going to smash through her ribs and out of her body altogether. It took way too long for her to get that arm through there, but when she'd finally done it, she tucked it back in against her body protectively. She composed herself and shook her good arm out, trying to diffuse the pain.

"Boots. Boots." She muttered through the tears as she left Michonne and Eli and wobbled over to the stool in the corner to sit. Eli picked up her footwear and stooped to help get her feet in them. She looked back up to the other women who were casting worried glances her way.

"Pity party's over, guys," she said low in the back of the throat, "Where are my guns and my sling?"

Andrea raised her dual Berettas with two fingers hooked through the leather of their holster, "I have the slingshot in my pocket…I don't know where your arrows got to, though. They weren't upstairs with the rest of our stuff."

"That's fine. I can't use the thing anyway, right now. Gimme ya Ladysmith. I don't know if I can handle the kick on those right now, either. Hang onto them." She said as Eli finished tying the laces on her boots. She held her good arm up in askance, needing a bit of help from someone to get her ass off that wooden stool. Michonne pulled her up and draped her thick, grey cloak over her shoulders and then fastened the clasp and drew the hood up over her thick, wild, blood crusted hair.

"Let's go. No tellin' who's gunna come waltzin' in here or when. I imagine Deacon'll be on his way over any time." Eli urged as he started leading Pru out of the cell.

"Where's everyone else?" Andrea asked quietly as they all passed her. She slung Pru's leather holster over her shoulders, handed her own gun off to Pru, and fell in step at the back of the group.

"I killed Ross. Upstairs…The Governor set us both to guard the place when he left this afternoon. And I found out yesterday that Merle and his lot went down Savannah way to scout…Half a day's trip one way, normally. Things now would make the trip a little slower…If they spent the day scouting yesterday, I figure they'd be back any time now." he explained.

"How long have w-" Pru asked, not able at all to gauge how long she'd been down there.

"I talked to you two days ago," He interrupted her question as he ushered her up the steps. Only three days. It had only been three fucking days in this painful purgatory.

"Here, take her." He said, turning to Beth, meaning for her to help Pru climb the rest of the flight to the main floor.

"I'm fine, I got it." She said as she held a hand out for the wall to steady herself.

"You sure?" Beth whispered. She nodded and gave the girl a soft smile. Eli stopped at the door and put his ear to it, listening for movement on the other side.

"Ya got a gun, honey?" Pru asked Beth quietly. The girl looked up at her, a bit unsure and shocked with her huge doe eyes and nodded after a second.

"Make sure the safety's off now. Use it." She told her, turning back around. Beth pulled the gun from the small of her back and flicked off the little switch hesitantly. Pru could sense the girl's nervous energy causing her to tremble behind her and reached out to find her hand on the rickety, makeshift banister. She squeezed it quickly, in an attempt to reassure her and let go as Eli turned around and nodded them all on.

"Time to go, girls." He whispered as he drew in a breath and then opened the door out into the hall. They made their way to the front door quickly and paused again. Pru looked around the foyer nervously, once again taking in the sweet, agreeable surroundings that she'd first set eyes on a few nights ago. Her stomach turned at the saccharine veneer and she gagged a bit as she waited for Eli to open the door. She stared at the back of his head as he peered out the old, rippled glass, making sure the coast was clear.

"Alright, no one's out there right now…Left when we get down the stairs. Through the courtyard…Then a right when we get to the corner of the building, into the alley. I have a truck out there. Ya'll climb in the bed, underneath that tarp, and you all stay _down _until I tell you. When we get to where we're goin', I'm gunna pull the truck up to the fence and ya'll climb over, quick."

"She can't climb! Not with that arm!" Andrea whispered angrily. Eli shook his head and turned back around before speaking.

"I'm gunna hoist her up, dammit. You three go over first and two of you pull her over and drop her down easy…When we're over, you stay low and run for the trees…Just keep runnin'…As long as we can."

Pru took a huge, deep breath and nodded at Eli, "Easy-peazy."

He nodded and turned his head to look back out the window of the wide double doors, checking for people one more time.

"…Okay."

The two syllables were slow and airy as they left his lips, and she watched them make frosted puffs of condensation on the chilly glass before him as he slowly pushed those happy, welcoming doors wide. Her feet were moving on their own now. Her mind was on a fight-or-flight autopilot. Down the steps. Past the menacingly cute, painted sign that told that the building was Woodbury Town Hall. Past some rose bushes and a tiny willow tree. Into the dark space between the two buildings.

They stopped when Eli did at the back corner of the courtyard. He peered around the side of the building, gun pistol raised and at the ready. His military machine movements sharp and fluid all at once. More professional than even Rick somehow, though this man had been trained to play both savior and harbinger in a war in which he'd fought. He locked eyes with her once more in silence and nodded, indicating the coast was clear, before taking off down the alley.

She was already out of breath and pushing with her last bit of strength, though they'd only started running seconds ago. Her pulse was pounding in her head so hard that she thought the pressure was going to cause her skull to crack like an egg, and the sweat was soaking her skin beneath the wool cloak. She pushed the oversized hood off her head just as they reached the open tailgate of the Ford. Andrea and Michonne dove in first and each helped one of the other two up. Once they were down, Eli closed the tailgate feather-light and silent behind them and drew the blue plastic tarp over their flat bodies. Seconds later, the cab door was closing and the engine was rumbling to life.

It was dark under that plastic, and for some reason it was difficult for her to breathe. She wondered if it was just her who'd felt the tightness in her chest, or if it was happening to all of them. They were rocked slowly and gently as the truck traveled down the cobblestone alleyway that lined the backs of the tiny town's shops and markets. Eventually the rocking stopped as they pulled out onto a properly paved street. Eli drove slowly. It was painfully slow, actually, but she reminded herself that no one rushed around Woodbury, and he was doing his best not to draw attention to the truck as it cruised the side streets.

Eli turned a corner then, and Pru could feel the truck rock briefly again over the unpaved brick surface beneath the wheels before the brakes squealed a bit. There was a voice, drowned out mostly by the engine then, and her blood ran cold in her veins. The man walked closer to the driver's side and as he drew nearer, the women could hear the voice growing clearer as he talked at Eli.

"Where you off to this time'a night, Eli? Thought you was over at the Hall with Ross?" the man asked. Eli dodged the question easily in a breezy tone, though Pru could sense the tension in his voice.

"Nah. Deacon just got over there. Told us he wanted to be alone with those girls of his." He chuckled. Pru swallowed as the other man began laughing heartily.

"So what you got here, man?" he asked Eli once the laughs stopped. She could feel the guy's eyes run across the tarp over their backs and she closed her eyes tightly.

_Oh fuck, please. PLEASE, NO._

"Movin' some of them tires we brought back the other night…Someone said one of the trucks has a slow leak in two wheels. Gunna bring these over to the garage along with some new odds n' ends."

"Tires, huh? Which truck?" The man's tone suddenly fluctuated from amicable to suspicious. She could feel his energy moving closer as he peered into the bed. Suddenly Eli spoke up again.

"Hey, Flynn." He said as the door opened. A second later there was a quick struggle and then a snapping sound. Then came the sound of Flynn's body hitting the ground. Pru held her breath.

"Shit." Eli hissed as he closed the door to the cab back up and accelerated again.

"Oh god. Oh god." Beth started panicking next to her. Michonne nudged at the blonde urging her to stay quiet. Eli was driving a bit faster now, and it was causing their bodies to jostle around a bit roughly. Pru was trying to keep herself from crying out in pain again as Beth's body hit into her sore arm repeatedly. Thankfully the alley ended quickly as they exited back onto a regular street. She felt a wetness at her bicep though, and she knew it had once again broken open and started to leak blood and pus.

Five minutes later, though it felt much longer, the truck was again stopping and the door was flying open. Eli ripped the tarp off them and Michonne bolted upright, just in case.

"What the hell happened back there?" she hissed as she stood up on the edge of the truck and immediately started climbing the solid fence.

"He went for the tarp. I snapped his neck." He said flatly as he lowered the tailgate and pulled himself up next to Pru.

"But that won't kill him…Not really." Beth said.

"I know. Let them deal with that. It'll buy us some time." He replied as he helped the girl onto the fence. Andrea started pulling herself up next as Pru finally managed to get herself to her feet. She looked around the area briefly, checking for any enemy eyes and taking in the surroundings. She could see that there were a few lights in a parking lot in the distance, beyond the service entry to a large store. This must have been the Wal-Mart; the place where he'd tried to escape originally. Eli turned back to her once Beth was over the fence and Michonne and Andrea were waiting at the top. He took her by her good arm and aided her up onto the ledge.

"You ready? I'm gunna lift you, okay?" He asked quietly, steadying her by with a hand to her back. She looked up to Andrea and Michonne who were dangling their upper bodies over the top, hands outstretched and waiting for her.

"Born ready." She muttered. A second later he was hefting her up by her waist, pushing her towards the top.

Once Andrea and Michonne had her- by her uninjured arm and by the back of her pants- he let go and began climbing up, himself. Pru managed to maneuver herself into a better position in which to drop down to the ground with Andrea's help, and as she was pulling her head over the wall, she shot him a small victorious smile which his backlit face returned as his right hand reached the summit.

And then there was a tiny flash of movement off to the left of the shopping center, way back by what must have been the front of the store, and in that second, she cursed herself. She'd damned them all with that tiny, celebratory grin.

"Shit!" she gasped.

They'd been spotted.

"HEY! You there! STOP!" the far off voice shouted suddenly as the armed figure broke into a run towards them. Not a second later was the approaching man joined by another three running soldiers. Eli's head whipped around instantly upon hearing the shouting coming from behind him. No sooner was he grabbing at the back her head and pushing her down as he finished pulling himself up, "Hurry up!"

"STOP!" she heard one of the men call again.

"It's fuckin' Eli! Radio Deacon!" another said. And then there was a shot fired. Then another. Beth began screaming loudly, giving their location away to anything and everything in the forest at their backs. Andrea fell backwards off the fence and landed oddly on her feet and then rolled onto her backside in her rush to help Pru down. Michonne held tightly to her arm, though and was guiding her down slowly alongside her. Pru hazarded another look up then at Eli as his face and then chest were coming quickly over the top.

Another shot rang out then, echoing through the paved lot, up over the metal barricade, meant to both contain and hold strong and solid against the dead who may wander too near, and out into the tall, vacant trees and the chilly autumn air. It began to rain. Tiny, misty droplets fell from the dark heavens as she sank closer to the ground with Michonne and she closed her eyes to the feel of it. The tiny mist, in the same instant, turned into a deluge, and the warm water poured down onto her face and into her hair.

And then Beth was screaming again, shrill and loud. And now Andrea was, too.

She opened her eyes slowly, face still skyward, and the light from the lot on the other side of the fence haloed out over the barrier and the top portion of Eli's body. Through her eyelashes, now covered with liquid, she could see a red glow rimming her sight as water continued to pour from above and stick to those little hairs around her eyes.

…Water that seemed to be coming only from a single part of the sky. The part directly above her where Eli was hovering at the top of the fence.

And that water was red and hot against the chill of the night.

And red.

And red.

And so very fucking red.

She saw where it was coming from in the tiny amount of light making its way over the fence as Michonne was dropping her down the rest of the way. A softball-sized exit wound was torn out in the very center of his chest, and blood, straight from his aorta was raining down onto her face.

"ELI!" she screeched as he weak legs buckled when they touched the ground. She watched as he blinked once, then twice, and then brought his hand to the impossibly large void in his body. His eyes glazed and she could vaguely hear, somewhere in another dimension that seemed to be engulfing the one she was currently in, more gunfire, shouting, a heavy footsteps on metal. Eli's lips moved then, but there was no sound, especially over the growing commotion. It was a faint movement, but one she was able to read, clear as day.

_"R U N."_

There was a hand on her left wrist. It was the wrist connected to the arm that was bleeding and weeping and inflamed. Then that hand was dragging her up off her knees, and the searing pain jolted her from that odd dimension that she was the sole inhabitant of. Michonne was desperately pulling at her now, and once Pru realized it, she did exactly what Eli had told her to do.

She ran. They all did.

None of them spared another glance back at Eli's body, that wall, or that horrendous town as they raced into the trees just a head of them. As they made it into the brush, past the first few yards of trees, the gunshots and shouting began again, and she could hear the bullets imbedding themselves deep within the wood of the trees that towered over them and reached with their bare arms for the black sky. She was still screaming. And so was Beth. And so was Andrea. And Michonne was growling loudly as the dead leaves crunched loudly under their feet and they escaped into the dark, dense Georgia forest, away from the quaint, little town of Woodbury.

** . . .**

She tripped again, and fell to her hands and knees. Thankfully the dirt they'd been walking on was soft and just a step above mud, otherwise she'd have more wounds to worry about. Once again, Andrea was pulling her up, back onto her newborn foal legs, and guiding her along for a few steps.

It was midday by now. Midday and they hadn't come across anything yet. Not a shelter of any kind, not a river, or a road, or anything. Not even a fucking walker. Nothing.

As she looked from Andrea's tired expressionless eyes to the overcast sky, she wondered if it had truly been that long since they'd hopped that fence. It felt like weeks ago now. They'd been walking for weeks and the sun was broken and stuck up there in the sky and it was mocking them from behind that thick blanket of grey. _Fucking sun._

"Motherfucker." She said out loud to the sky in an accusing tone. Andrea looked over.

"Huh?"

"That." She replied, gesturing upwards with a vague and wild flap of her hand as if Andrea would understand right away without another question. Andrea didn't understand, though, and she shot Pru another worried look.

"Come here." Her friend beckoned. Pru stopped and looked over at her.

"Wait up, guys." Andrea said quietly to Michonne and Beth who were only a few paces ahead of them. They stopped and turned, and Michonne looked exasperated. Andrea grabbed Pru by her right arm and she directed her back into a tree and sat her down before crouching in front of her. The blonde woman brought the back of her hand to Pru's forehead gently and almost recoiled at the feeling against her fingers.

"You're burning up! And you're white as a sheet!" she said, completely aghast. Pru rolled her eyes and went to go stand back up, but with her body as weak as it was, it took little to no effort for Andrea to push her back down onto her ass.

"You heard what Eli said. You shouldn't be pushing yourself." Andrea demanded as she stood back up.

"Right, so I should just sit out here and in the middle of nowhere and let my brain cook inside my head for as long as possible?" she snapped back as she wiped at her sweat soaked hairline. It hadn't dried yet. Not since Eli's blood had poured from his body through the gunshot wound and down onto her. She made a face at the slickness as she smeared the mess around above her brow and into her hair. Andrea narrowed her eyes at her and went to say something, but Michonne interrupted.

"She's got a point, Andrea. We need to keep moving. It's not safe out here." She said quietly but firmly.

"It's not safe, but we've done this before." Andrea said, addressing her friend, but letting her eyes argue the fact with the trees around them.

"Yeah, we did it before, but neither of us was sick or injured. We need to get her someplace where we can wait til that fever goes down or-"

"Because her fever is just gunna go down on its own, Michonne?" Andrea turned around and nearly shouted at her sword wielding friend.

"HEY," came the normally timid voice, "Can ya'll just stop it?"

The other three turned their attention to the lithe little blonde as she stood a few feet off, arms crossed over her chest. Her doe eyes were no longer big and shiny and frightened, but narrowed and serious. _Demanding _even. She uncrossed her arms and began walking over to the bole of the tree that Pru was settled up against.

"It's cold out here and walkers could be anywhere…If she wants to keep going, we should keep going." The girl said as she crouched and slipped her shoulder under Pru's and put her arm around her waist, helping her to lift up off the ground from her sitting position. Pru looked over at Andrea and then Michonne, and the three of them were shooting each other silent looks of confusion and disbelief. Then Pru looked past the mess of soft, almost white-blonde hair next to her and opened her mouth to say something as Beth helped her walk past the other two.

"If there was ever any doubt about whose sister ya are…" she smiled.

"God, just shut up, Pru."

** . . .**

She was so cold that her fingers were tingling. Her shivering starting to interfere with her already staggered and limp paced gait a while ago, and the jackhammering of her teeth as they chattered inside her mouth caused her brain to rattle around more. The thin shirt she had on was soaked through with sweat, and she wondered why the cold air outside along with the moisture covering her skin weren't working to bring down her temperature. She gripped the front of the cloak and tucked it more tightly around herself, wishing that, even for a single moment, that the feel of the icy air would abate and allow her to feel warmth.

_Just one more time. I just want to be warm one more time. I don't want to die feeling cold, man. PLEASE._

"You're not gunna die." Michonne said tersely.

_Oh._

She'd said that out loud, apparently. Michonne was staring at her trying to look annoyed, but worry was making its way through her deep brown eyes. Pru's head swam as she turned her eyes away and she had to stop. She bent forward a bit, wobbling on her Jell-o stems, and she felt a hand catch her as she fell to her knees.

"Come on. I got you." Andrea's soft, sad voice whispered into her ear as she gathered her back up.

"I'm not feeling too hot, guys." Pru shivered, looking around between her friends.

"We know…We know. Just a little bit more." Andrea coaxed. Pru sighed tiredly as she was drawn back up once more. Andrea gripped tightly to her to keep her from tipping back over, and Pru winced at the feeling. The soreness in her arm and her face was had slowly crept its way through the rest of her flesh hours ago, and it was making every inch of her throb in agony with every jarring step.

"For what?" Pru asked, the tune she'd been singing just a few short hours before changing as she turned defeated, hazel eyes to meet Andrea's blues, "So I can keep slowing ya down?"

Pru shook her head, pushing feebly at Andrea's hand and made her way over to another tree and leaned her forehead against it. She was in absolute agony now. It had quickly become too much. Andrea was right behind her, her steps quick despite her own obvious tiredness. Pru closed her eyes and swallowed, relishing how good it felt to rest her weight wholly against something.

"Stop it," Andrea demanded angrily, "Come on we have to keep going."

Pru laughed quietly and allowed herself to slide heavily down the rough trunk of the tree to rest amongst the roots. Beth rushed forward, trying to catch her before she reached the damp earth, but she didn't get there in time. Pru's legs were tangled up underneath her, contorted in uncomfortable knots, but she was beyond caring. Discomfort and pain were her world now. What was one more little annoyance? It felt good to sit, even if her legs were at odd angles. She looked back up to Andrea with heavy lidded eyes.

"No," she said softly, waving her hand a bit, dismissively as she joked, "No, I'm gunna stay here…Take a nap."

"Pru." Michonne warned as she shook her head and stalked away from the scene a little ways. Beth came and knelt down in front of her next to Andrea and Pru found herself focusing on a long, thin split in her upper lip. It looked like it hurt. It would definitely scar. She felt guilty, then. She'd caused that wound. Not actually, physically, but she'd been the reason that this whole thing had happened.

"I'm sorry I got ya dragged into this," she said. Andrea shook her head.

"What? Why would you- You didn't have anything to do with this."

"If I had stayed in the damn woods…Killed Merle…I could have had a clean shot if I waited, maybe."

"Pru, Deacon had us by then. You couldn't have done anything…Something bad would have happened anyway. At least it wasn't Carl, thank god." Andrea insisted. Pru shook her head, a bit, pushing past the pain.

"I could have had him." Pru said quietly. Andrea shook her head and turned it away, looking frustrated, and watching the trees.

"Pru, it's done. It's over…We're away from them all now, and that's what matters, right?" Beth said, turning to Andrea. Andrea nodded grabbing for Pru's right arm to pull her back up.

"Let's go." She said, but Pru snatched it away obstinately with what felt like the last bit of her energy, and glared at Andrea.

"Go where? …I'm done walking around aimlessly. I can't do it anymore, Andrea…Fucking look at me."

Andrea didn't say anything for a few seconds as she looked at Pru. Her eyes began to well, to fill with an impossible amount of tears, and she just moved her lips, saying nothing as Pru stared at her.

"We need to find everyone…Go back to Homer. The ranger station." She said softly. It was an obvious answer to a question that didn't need to be asked. Pru shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Do ya honestly think they're still there? Really? Rick and Daryl left that place the second we were gone…There's no way they stayed, knowing that Merle knew that they were there and unarmed…They could be anywhere now. Anywhere except there."

"Well then that's where we'll go…Everywhere but there." Andrea bargained, reaching for her hand again, but Pru continued to resist. She bowed her head, saying in plain words what they all knew to be fact.

"I won't make it much longer, Andrea. This infection's too bad…" She sniffed, averting her eyes and looking over to Michonne who was standing a few feet away with her hands clasped and at rest atop the messy pile of her dreadlocked hair. She rested her head against the bark behind her and listened as Beth and Andrea started to cry quietly.

"When we find them, I don't want to have to tell Daryl that…That-" Andrea pleaded as she wiped at her wet eyes. Pru turned her attention back to the crying faces in front of her and shifted her weight a bit so she could reach behind her back for Andrea's Ladysmith which was still tucked into her waistband. She pulled it out and looked it over. She ran her ashen fingers over the small gun as she felt her own eyes and throat burning with liquid sorrow. She choked on a sob.

"He'll get over it." She laughed sadly. Beth leaned in suddenly and threw her arms around her neck, careful to not hit into her broken face or shredded arm. Andrea's weight was soon pressing against the both of them as she, too, enveloped her body in a tight embrace. She was warm again, finally warm, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the feeling of tangible love as she submerged in what she'd wanted so badly; warmth.

"Guys…" Michonne's own sad voice came, though there was something to it, besides sadness. Disbelief, was it? Wonder? Hope? The sobbing huddle broke apart slowly, and when they all looked in Michonne's direction, her back was to them and her head was turned slightly to the left, looking well beyond the tree that Pru's back was still up against.

"…Please tell me I'm not the only one seeing this?" she finished. At that, Andrea stood quickly and drew one of the guns from the holster draped over her shoulders. She walked quickly over to where Michonne was standing and followed her gaze.

"Oh my god," She said quietly, as she put her hand to Michonne's shoulder, almost as if she was steadying herself, "Oh my god…Beth, get her up. Get her up, come on!"

He words were rapid and happy now. Happy. That was fucking odd, to say the absolute least. Beth looked at Pru and their confused expressions mirrored one another. Suddenly Beth was moving to stand, and yanking Pru up along with her.

"Noooo." Pru whined petulantly, "I thought we were over this?"

"Come on, hurry up." Andrea urged the lagging pair as she and Michonne started to jog off past the trees immediately at their side.

"What the fuck." Pru breathed as she wobbled over the exposed roots at her feet with the younger girl's help.

As they rounded the corner and followed the other two with their eyes, what they'd seen came into view. A short distance away through the trees, they could see some odd colors that stuck out like a sore thumb against the grey day and the dark trees. One shape was large and obnoxiously yellow. Two smaller shapes sat just off to the side of the first, red and bright white, respectively. It took Pru's weary eyes a beat to figure out just what she was looking at. She tilted her head as she walked, aided by Beth, to where Michonne and Andrea were now running. It became clear a second later, just as Beth had the same realization.

"Is that a tent?" Beth asked from beside her.

"Yeah, that's a tent…And dirt bikes." Pru answered, the feeling of hopelessness leaving her for the second time in only hours. They began picking up their pace, giving chase to their friends who were in hot pursuit of an unmoving target.

When they reached the campsite, Michonne and Andrea were already going through things and checking the bikes over.

"This could belong to someone. We shouldn't be doing this." Beth said.

"No one's been here for a long time, Beth. Look at the fire pit. That wood's soaked through and everything's tossed around." Pru said as she hobbled over to the red dirt bike. Andrea was crouched down checking to see how full the gas tank was with a twig.

"How much?" she rasped, shaking off another dizzy spell.

"Enough." The other woman answered as she moved to the next, smiling.

"More than enough." Michonne said quietly from the opposite side of the tent. She lifted a red, plastic gas can and shook it a bit before popping the cap off and sniffing at its contents to make sure it was gasoline, "There's no food or water, but at least there's this."

"Okay, then. Let's go." Andrea said as she closed the gas tank on the second bike back up and walked back over to the first…But no one moved except for Pru, who upon feeling a miraculous second wind, threw her leg right over the seat of the bike she was standing next to.

"What are you doing? You can't drive in your state!" Andrea spoke up. Pru looked up at her as she slowly pulled her infected arm away from her body, straightened it out with a pained growl, and laid it on the handlebar. She looked up to Andrea with the snarl still tug her lips up to her nose.

"Well no one else is volunteering, Andrea! ...Am I the only one who can drive one of these things?!"

She looked back and forth between Andrea and Michonne. Neither made a move or said anything. They just looked back and forth between each other.

"Well that's just great." Pru muttered, moving to pull herself off the seat. Then suddenly the sound of the second bike's engine came buzzing to life and she turned her head toward the sound. Beth was perched onto of the bike and she revved the little engine twice, testing it out. She looked over to Andrea whose mouth was hanging open and laughed a bit, forgetting for a moment how sick, cold, wet, tired, hungry, thirsty, dirty, miserable, and close to death she felt.

"Jimmy had one," Beth explained over the sound of the bike, "He taught me. Daddy would have killed me if he found out!"

A second later Pru was kicking the bike beneath her to life and Andrea was holding onto her. She worked the throttle, pushing her arm to its limits as she did it, but pushed on through the throbbing and held tight anyway. They needed to get out of these woods, find shelter, find her some medicine, food, water…Find their group.

Pru allowed her eyes to follow the treads that led to the abandoned campsite. It carved through the small clearing they were standing in and then went off, weaving through the trees. Sooner or later, those tracks would lead to a road. She turned to Beth and Michonne and nodded in the direction she was about to head off in and then took off, leading the way to whatever was ahead of them.

** . . .**

They'd been on the bikes for a long while. The cold wind was whipped at their skin and causing it to sting terribly. They'd all be wind burnt and in pain for days after this. But they'd kept on; attempting to stop only once when they'd reached the center of a small town. The quartet had found out quickly, however, that the town was a lost cause. It was overrun by the dead and in Pru's shape, taking a chance by getting off the bikes would have been suicide, so they'd kept on going.

It was getting dark now. They were on a long, straight, rural highway route that was hugged tightly at its edges by another forest. By her count, keeping a keen eye to the fuel gauge, Pru figured they must have traveled a distance of at least fifty miles. They would need to stop soon to refuel, but Pru hoped that they'd be able to stop before that. The fever, pain, and infection was catching back up to her again, making her woozy, and causing her vision to blur badly. She shook her head again, trying to get her eyes to cooperate. Had she still been walking, this would have been the point where she threw in the towel.

When she blinked, she saw in the distance that the long tunnel of trees ended, and the slate grey sky met the road in front of them. She sped up a bit, tired of the darkness blanketing them, and wanting so badly to make it to the edge of the trees into what looked like a field that was cleaved by the pavement.

Within a moment's time, they were there, breaking through the trees and into the vast open space that flanked the road. Once green grass, now knee height and browned by the chill in the air, swayed in the light breeze. When they made it to the center of the acres upon acres wide area, she noticed a massive building in the distance off, pushed way back off the road to the left. The building was surrounded by high fences and had two towers poking up from the property. She knew what it was immediately and sneered at it. That place was probably _crawling. _There was no way they could stop here.

_Dammit_.

Suddenly the road's texture changed drastically beneath the tires. This section of highway had been torn up in preparation for repair before the world ended up overtaken. The tiny imperfections in the asphalt caused the bike to bounce along in a rhythmless rhythm, and it sent more spurts of pain into her swollen bicep. She groaned. The pain was so bad it was making her stomach flip and her palms sweat. She groaned as the most intense dizzy spell yet hit her, and her eyelids and head grew heavy. She had the good sense to slow the bike down substantially, but as her vision grew dark, the two wheeled vehicle started to weave and then tip. Andrea was screaming one second and then there was silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**I pumped those last two chapters out, and then blew through half of this one...And then hit a fucking WALL, guys. Like I knew where I wanted to take it and everything. I just couldn't pull the words from my head, so here it is (over?)a week later, and I'm just posting. My apologies!**

**This chapter was supposed to be much longer originally, but I figured I'd kept ya'll waiting long enough, and this was a great place to stop. The next chapter will also be from Daryl's POV because, LOL, it's the second half of this one.**

**READERS. DEAR, SWEET, READERS. I LOVE YOU. DID YOU KNOW? And because I loves ya so, I'm gunna respond to your reviews right here, right now!**

**Piratejessieswaby & Embarka-2012: I hope I've answered your wishes with this one. I know it isn't the cheerful reunion everyone's been waiting for(not yet?), but...*shrug & evil grin* Love to you both & thanks for your reviews!**

**Caffiend04: I couldn't keep it up! D= I needs me some Writer's Viagra or some shit, lol. Dammit. Sorry to keep you waiting. AND OMG NO CRYING!...But honestly if my writing elicited that kind of emotion from you for real, holy FUCK am I flattered. Thank you for your amazing compliment. I always love getting feedback and knowing you all enjoy the story.**

**Felinebabe: Did I make EVERYONE cry this chapter? Lordy Mama. No crying, lol! I'm sorry to pull the Eli rug out from under you like that. I actually wanted to take him a little farther and had envisioned a different outcome for him, but...You know how when something feels right it just feels *right*? It was right to kill him off quickly, and he'll work as a plot device somewhere down the line. I'm also glad you brought up Jim. I wanted the scene to feel like a sudden and crushing loss of hope. Like her pain had become AS GOOD AS A BITE. I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope this one doesn't disappoint. Hope to hear from ya again!**

**SimpleWickedWriter- *points* I'm thrilled to hear that what I see in my head, as far as the prison and its atmosphere go, as translating to word well enough for everyone to get the right feel from it all. Your fucking words are too kind, man, and they mean alot. YES. ALOT. A SINGLE WORD.**

**I haven't read the comics yet, either. Fuckass and shitdamn we need to get our hands on them, huh? =/ But yeah, I'm kinda just going with the flow on these parts, using the Wiki for references here & there to stay *kinda* true to the setting & the characters. Like you always say, the Daryl you write is YOUR Daryl...That's very obviously what's going on here, too, especially with the character I have NO prior knowledge of(Michonne, Tyreese).**

**And LMAO, yeah. We're both horrible. Our poor characters. FUCK. Poor everybody. PRAY, FIC GODS. SAVE THEM ALL FROM US EVIL, EVIL LADIES, FOR THEY ARE INNOCENT...AND DON'T REALLY EXIST. BUT WE HURT THEM SO...!**

***Fun fact #8769863284QXV* I put "the quaint little town of Woodbury" in there as an afterthought. The sentence wasn't full enough, and I really just wanted to drive home how sick, surreal, and completely FUCKED the experience was for all involved, and well...That happened. And my twisted little brain loved it, too. It may be one of my favorite lines that I've put in the whole story.**

**And as far as morbid & sadistic goes, I listen to death metal, so...There you go, haha(also supplies me with constant inspiration for zombies & death scenes! I recommend very much!)**

**I'm glad you like how I pulled Beth more into the story. I can't stand her(or anyone else) being helpless. It's the fucking zombie apocalypse. MAN UP, GUYS. SERIOUSLY. I have a feeling I won't have to complain about it much with the coming season thought. We already saw Carol kicking ass and shooting bitches up. I hope Beth grows some balls, too. FUCK MAN, JUST OVER A MONTH LEFT. CAN YOU STAND IT?!**

**ALL MY OTHER LOVELY READERS! Thank you so much for your Faves & Follows. They mean the world. I hope you enjoy the chapter, & I'd really love to hear from more of you! I'm always up for PMs and questions, too! Have fun!- Laur**

* * *

_He hasn't been sick on himself today. That's a good sign, right?_

_Swelling's probably going down._

This dream was odd, he thought. Dreams usually weren't just sound, especially not weird, warped and garbled voices. Garbled voices of Carol and Rick talking about some poor slob pukin' his guts out all over the place…

But man, did this dream feel _good, _at least. He was warm and relaxed, and for the first time in a long time, his body was free of stiffness or aches. The tension headache, clearly from clenching his jaw way too much over the last few months, had even vacated the premises. He felt like he was floating a bit, too. That sweet floating feeling you get when you lay down in bed after a night of slowly nursing a bottle of smooth, warm bourbon. That perfect little notch you fall into between tipsy and drunk when you're just _good_. _Good._

...But he'd never had a dream where he _knew_ he'd been dreaming...

…Was he drunk?

_No telling when he'll wake up, though…Of if he will. There's no way of knowing the full extent of the damage._

The old man was in this dream, too? What the hell was this? He couldn't get a moment's peace away from these goddamn people. Not even in his head. Was nothing sacred anymore?

"Sh'up," He muttered, the words coming out in a loosely formed ball of near unintelligible syllables, "Tryn'a sleep."

"Daryl?" Carol's voice came again, this time surprised and much more insistent, "Daryl?!"

He felt a hand squeeze his and he tugged it away and bringing it up to push weakly at the sensation. He fought hard to open his eyes and he could feel them rolling around aimlessly in their sockets. Light started to filter in through his lashes and he blinked to help straighten out his line of sight. The room was dim and blurry and he began missing the dream instantly. What little he could see- the high, white ceiling cast muted silver in the lack of light and a pale, humanesque shape- it was depressing as hell.

"Wha? …Fuck." He mumbled, annoyed at waking only to find someone in his immediate space. He continued to blink, but when that didn't seem to be working he drew his hands up to his eyes and started to rub hard.

"Daryl, careful. Don't move around too much." Rick's voice warned, and he furrowed his brow at the sound as he brought his hands back down to the bed.

"Fuckin' Toto here too?" he snapped as best he could, still feeling groggy and heavy-tongued. There was a quiet set of relieved laughs from around the room and he made to open his eyes again. This time they did focus. Carol was standing off to his right, smiling tightly and wiping at her own eyes. Herschel was right behind her, his attention going back and forth between where he lay and something well out of his field of vision. Rick stood looking haggard as usual, hands at his hips as he smiled up at him from the foot of the bed he was in.

_…Bed? Why the hell am I in a bed?_

He went to prop himself up on his arms, and felt his head start to spin from the change in elevation. Three pairs of hands shot out immediately urging him back down into the welcoming softness of the pillow. It struck him then that their hands were touching the bare, scarred flesh at his shoulders and chest. The iciness of their touch jolted him and started creeping deep into his muscles. Feeling exposed, embarrassed, and missing the delicious warmth from his dream state, he tugged the blanket a little higher up across his torso. That cold feeling was leaking in from every inch of the room like it was contagious now, and it started nip at the exposed flesh of his upper body. He shuddered as he glared up at his friendly captors.

"The hell is wrong with you people?! …Lemme go!" he groused, voice low, dry and gravely as Death Valley. He tried to fight the reaching arms as well as the pain that was quickly spreading through his head.

"You fell down the stairs, Daryl," Rick spoke up in a placating tone as he continued to hold his injured friend down, "It was a real bad fall. You landed on your head from about ten feet up. I thought you snapped your neck with how hard you hit."

Daryl squinted up at Rick, looking at him like he had five sets of eyes, but it stopped him from fighting mostly. He yanked his arms away from them as he took in the provided information, and after a second, they began to back off.

"Do you remember that? Falling?" Carol asked softly. He shot her a glare but softened it a second later and shook his head to answer. And there it was. That simple little shake stirred up the silt of dizziness and pain and sent it ricocheting through his brain. He growled at the feeling and brought a hand up to the right side of his head, just above his ear.

Apparently he was growing a second head right out the top of the first, now.

_Great._

"Don't mess with that bump. I think you have a skull fracture." Herschel chided. Daryl pushed himself up into a sitting position again, and they were going back at him immediately. He growled and raised his hand to them, letting them know he had no intention of getting up and going for a fucking stroll. All he wanted to do was sit up, dammit.

"You _think_?" Daryl asked, delicately and experimentally prodding at the egg at his crown. Herschel went back over to the bedside table to futz around with whatever he had going on over there.

"Yes. Think." The old veterinarian said, "We have no way of doing X-rays here, but based on your symptoms, I'd say it's likely...Though, it may be less severe than I originally thought, considering you're awake and alert now."

"Small blessing." Carol said quietly as pulled her cardigan more tightly around herself and parked back onto the rolling stool that she had pulled up beside the bed.

"Blessin' my ass. You ain't the one got yer bell rung." He said as he continued to prod at it.

"Son, I'm not going to tell you again not to touch that." Herschel warned in his fatherly tone. Daryl glared at him sideways but said nothing. He didn't feel much like fighting with anyone at the moment, what with the assumed crack in his skull and the nausea. He let his arms go limp in front of him as he looked around the strange room they were all gathered in. It took a second for the fog in his head to clear, but once his eyes landed on the barred window to the far right of the room, up high and out of normal reach, everything came crashing back into his mind and he paled.

The only consolation was that it hadn't gotten dark out yet. It had been late in the day when clumsiness and gravity had conspired against him, causing him to take the spill, ass-over-head, down the stairs, but the sun was still up…Just barely, but still up and still very much hidden behind those same thick, somber clouds. Drawing in a long audible breath, his eyes went wide and ran around the room as he was reminded of the chief reason they'd ended up here. There was still time.

_The girls._

"Where's mah shirt? How long I been out?" he asked rapid fire, eyes still frantic but eventually settling on Rick. As Rick opened his mouth to speak he held up his hand again, warning Daryl that he needed to be still as he crowded into the bedside.

"Daryl…"

"You remember where we are? What you were doing prior to falling?" Herschel asked, as he started going through the motions of a very basic neurological exam. Daryl knew he was trying to change the subject and divert his attention. He pushed at the older man's hands angrily as they made to inspect his reflexes and his pupil response.

"How long have I been _out, _Rick?" Daryl asked again, louder and more insistent. Rick lowered his hands to his hips and bowed his head before meeting Daryl's angry gaze with that old, apologetic way he had.

"We were about to leave to go scout, Daryl. Me, and Glenn and T-Dog…I just came in here to check on y-"

"HOW LONG?!"

Carol grabbed for his arm, imploring him to stay calm with a desperate expression he completely ignored. She was mumbling unintelligible, pleading words to him as he clenched his fists into the thin blankets and sheets that pooled at his waist. Rick swallowed and removed his eyes from the livid hunter's, casting them to the floor again. He cupped the palm of his hand over the stubble surrounding his lips, almost trying to keep the words from escaping past.

"…Two days." He mumbled.

It was a tiny, quiet death sentence. The members of his group had passed it while he'd slept. The phrase reached his ears, went into his aching brain, and swam the length of his entire body once before settling heavily in his chest. A sharp aching feeling began to develop there. Daryl blinked and his lips parted. A staggered set of gasps left his lungs as tears started to flood his eyes. It felt like someone had just knocked the wind out of him, making the pain in his swimming head all the more unbearable.

The calm before the storm dissipated instantly as a crushing, violent wave of grief and a rush of blazing anger threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. He erupted from beneath the sheets, arms outstretched, making as if he would crawl across the length of the bed and strangle Rick right then and there. Rick spooked at the quick movement at first, stepping back a full pace, until he remembered that Daryl shouldn't even be sitting up really, never mind tearing someone limb from limb. They were on him again, all three of them, and he was growling and fighting as best he could against time.

"Daryl, stop! STOP!" Rick yelled, throwing a leg up onto the bed and climbing onto his kicking legs in an attempt to weight them down with his body. It only made him more furious, and despite his head feeling like it may pop like a zit at any moment, he fought harder.

"Carol! Give me the syringe!" Herschel yelled as he held onto Daryl's wildly swinging arm.

_Syringe?_

Daryl looked over at Carol, rummaging around, rushed and clumsy in a tray of instruments next to the bed. She picked it up and handed it quickly over Herschel's shoulder. Their makeshift doctor took it from her hands and pulled the cap off with his teeth. He was going to do it. He was _actually_ going to sedate him. He stilled suddenly, staring at the sharp little needle as Herschel was searching for a good spot to sink it into his hide.

"You roofie me, old man, and when I come to you'll be pullin' my boot out yer ass!" Daryl snarled, though he let most of the fight flew from his tight muscles right away. Herschel stopped, still holding the syringe, thumb resting on the plunger, ready to depress it and shoot his combative patient full of who knows what. He looked over to Rick with an uncertain, peeved look across his features, and the man on the receiving end simply hung his head and sighed.

"Get the hell off me!" Daryl said, yanking his arms free and shoving at Rick roughly before he settled. Carol's breathing was frantic and her hands shook and fumbled at the bedside as she whispered pleadingly to him again. She reached out to touch his arm in an attempt to comfort, but was rewarded with a look that was just as malicious as it was wounded. He swallowed thickly after a beat and brought both hands to his face and growled, loud and pained, through his fingers.

"Why would you wait?!"

"I knew you'd want to be there…The other night, when you didn't come to right away, I figured you'd be fine by morning…But then you-you started vomiting an-and convulsing yesterday…" Rick paused and shook his head, "None of us wanted to leave in case…"

Daryl stared hard at the man in front of him. It was a look of pure disgust and doubt. As his face contorted further, it caused a tear to spill over onto his cheek. He turned his head quickly to his left, hoping in the back of his mind no one had saw it, as he brought the back of his hand up to wipe it away. He tried to compose himself as he turned back around and pointed his finger accusingly at the man in front of him.

"Those girls are probably dead by now! _She's fucking dead_, Rick!" he seethed, choking back a sob. Daryl's cold words and anguished tone socked Rick square in the jaw. He cringed and shook his head at the words.

"No…Daryl, we don't know that…We're going to leave now and go sc-"

"What good's it gunna do now?! ...They ain't comin' back." Daryl finished weakly on a bitter, sorrowful sigh. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and lay back into the pillows, lamenting again, loudly, from deep within his hurting chest as he listened to the sound of Carol's own mournful weeping. He closed his saline-stung eyes and tugged at the hair on top of his head for a second before the pain became too much and he was seeing stars.

_This ain't happenin'. _

_How the fuck could this be happenin'?_

_Of course this is happenin'…_

A quick crackle cut through the quiet space. A familiar sound.

A voice came through on Rick's walkie-talkie, interrupting the grievous tone in the room with its own malapropos news. It was Glenn. His voice sounded like that of a man who was about to chew his on hand off out of nervousness. Edgy and quick, he was broadcast loudly over the quiet room.

"Rick, we got movement out here. What do we do?"

_Wonderful. _

He rolled over onto his side trying to block out the sound and just forget everything that was happening. For a split second he considered grabbing the pillow from beneath his head and mashing it over his ears. That is until he remembered that had been the approximate location of his supposed skull fracture. The skull fracture he believed in more and more with every passing second. He heard Rick sniff quietly and clear his throat twice, stifling his own quiet, guilt-laden tears before unhooking the walkie from his belt and bringing it up in order to communicate with the uneasy young man on the other end.

"What's up, Glenn?" he asked quietly, shifting off the foot of the bed onto which he'd climbed.

"It looks like two dirt bikes out on the road…Moving fast. Should we…?"

Rick sighed and raked at his shaggy hair with his unoccupied hand. If Daryl had been paying attention, he would have seen the mounting worry settling onto his shoulders. Rick licked at his dry lips before speaking into the radio again.

"Not unless they make to come over this way and give us trouble. There's only two, they don't pose much of a threat to us…Just keep an eye on them…"

"Right. Okay. Maggie, hand me th-" Glenn's voice said before it cut off. Crisis seemingly averted for now, Rick rested his weight back against the frame of the high bed and fiddled with the antenna on the walkie. Daryl watched him from the corner of his wet eye as Rick regarded him and then turned to look at the other two grieving parties at their backs, before once again turned his attention to Daryl.

"…I was only trying to do what I thought-"

Static hissed through the speaker, yet again intruding upon the quiet sadness that hung heavy from the high, trussed ceiling. This time however, the voice on the other end was frantic, boisterous, and oddly enough, happy.

"RICK! HOLY SHIT, RICK! IT'S THEM!" Glenn practically sang into the device. Maggie's happily sobbing voice could be heard layered beneath his words. Everything she said was pretty much undecipherable. Everything except for one word.

"-Beth-"

Daryl's eyes went huge and he bolted upright so quick that he needed to prop himself back up with a hand when another blast of pain zipped through his body's summit. Rick shot from where he'd been leaning at the Daryl's bedside. They both stared at each other. They'd both heard the happiness in those voices and the name. Too had Herschel, and fuck all else, even verification, and the old bastard was flying out the door quicker than anyone had ever seen him move. Daryl felt a small, freezing hand grab onto his tightly, and without even looking over or thinking about it, once again he found himself squeezing it back, needing the contact to keep him from fucking floating off the damn bed.

He needed to hear it first, though. Needed the exact words. A headcount matching the number they'd lost. He needed to hear that it was _them_ and that Pru was among them. Rick's eyes, still fixed on Daryl, read what he was thinking.

"It's _who_, Glenn?" he asked evenly.

"The girls! It's the girls! They're on the bikes! ALL FUCKING FOUR OF THEM! I saw them through the binoculars!"

That was it. Daryl was battling the blankets he'd been tucked into by lord knows who, probably Carol, trying to scramble from the high bed. Carol stood, knocking the metal stool to the floor and she and Rick were back at Daryl, trying to both pull and push him back down onto the mattress. He cried loudly out in frustration.

"You can't go running down there! Dammit, Daryl, you have to stay in bed!" Carol yelled, her arms wrapped around his bare waist as he fought with Rick in front of him. Daryl lunged forward again, towing poor Carol with him, up across the bed so her feet were dangling off in back of her while her face was buried in the blankets. Despite his injury, the man was making a bit of headway. Had the situation been anything other than what it was, a man desperate, it would have been funny.

"DARYL! STOP IT!" Rick yelled again, "Or we'll use what's in the syringe and you'll have to wait even longer to see her!"

That got him to stop. He stilled and drew back, knowing full well he wasn't in a position to press the man right now. He made a sour face at the threat but retreated fully back onto the bed. Carol let go once every last ounce of fight left him and she stood back up and quickly crossed to the other side of the bed, making her way to the door.

"Stay here." She echoed once more before disappearing around the corner. Rick looked at him again as he brought that walkie up to his mouth to communicate with the people keeping watch out in the guard towers.

"Glenn, get into the truck and go flag them down. Hurry."

"Ten steps ahead of you, man!" the kid answered. Rick smiled a bit at his answer before tucking the clip of the radio back at his belt. He raised his hands to Daryl again, as if he were a dog making sure he understood he was told what to do.

"Stay right here. We'll be right back. I swear."

"Hurry the fuck up an' go already!"

Rick tore off from the bedside at breakneck speed, so much so that his worn cowboy boots couldn't find purchase on the slick epoxy flooring outside the infirmary door. After he spun out a bit, he righted himself and Daryl anxiously listened to him dash down the hall, through a few sets of open, heavy gauge steel fencing. His breaths were coming rapidly and shaky, leaving his mouth in near gasps. He hung his head between his legs and planted his palms at his thighs, and sucked in the loud, unsteady gasps as he tried to stop is pounding head from spinning. When that didn't work, he rolled back and curled into himself, cradling his head in his palms. He grunted weakly at the pain and forced his eyes closed again. Getting himself worked up had made it worse.

…But they were okay. Pru was alive and alright and somehow, by some absolutely ridiculous coincidence, they had made it to a road that was taking them back east and it crossed directly in front of the place where they'd holed up. Of all the roads in Georgia, that girl had found the one that would bring her back to him.

The thoughts calmed his breathing and he was able to gather himself. He fought the pain back and pushed off the bed.

_Fuck this._

Pain or no pain, he wasn't staying in this damn room, waiting with his thumb up his ass. He turned and eyed the surgical steel tray across from him. Rick was already outside, and they'd left the sedative shot right there. There was little to no any of them could do once he was down there with them. It wasn't like he intended to go run a marathon. He was going to walk outside as calmly as he could manage and be there when she got out of that truck.

He was going to scream at her until his throat tasted like blood and he had no voice.

Probably strangle her.

Kiss her hard and hungry and then scream at her some more.

He got his feet under him and then searched the large, less than sterile, blood-smattered, hospital-esque room with his eyes for his clothes. He looked down at his body. He was standing there in a pair of red and black basketball shorts. They felt too soft and completely alien against his skin. Someone had washed him up and pulled the ridiculous bottoms, emblazoned with the University of Georgia logo, over his limp body while he'd been all unconscious. He wasn't sure if he was more embarrassed at the actual thought of someone washing him up or by the choice of clothing he'd been slipped into. He was going to have a talk with someone about this, too. Assholes.

He found an old, thread bare, hooded sweatshirt draped over the back of a chair and tossed it on. No pants though. Probably left them out of the room to make doubly sure he wouldn't try to wander the halls before he was supposed to. He cursed under his breath and quickly pulled the hoodie gingerly over the egg on his head and then stumbled from the room into the dark hallway.

There were so many doors. Doors that he didn't remember. He padded down the freezing hall hoping to fuck that he wouldn't step on anything sharp that may be lying discarded on the unlit stretch of floor. He remembered that he'd heard Rick plow through at least three gates, so he ambled past the first two, hoping that he'd been correct. When he'd arrived at the third, he had to reach out and poke his fingers through the gaps in the beige diamond mesh steel to hold himself up. His pulse was thumping in his right temple like a bass amplifier cranked all the way up, and with every single thump, his vision blur and vibrate, making it extremely difficult to navigate through the dark space. The pain brought him to his knees. He pressed his forehead into the hard metal and sucked a long breath in through gritted teeth.

"E'erbody so fuckin' eager to knock me out…Who do I gotta kill to get an aspirin?" he whined to the empty hall as he sank further to the floor. For a fleeting moment, he thought about turning around and crawling his ass back into that bed. At least there he'd be warm, able to rest his cracked head, and he wouldn't have to deal with the grief Rick and Herschel would give him when they returned.

_No._

It took him a few minutes to regroup. Much longer than he would have liked. As he hauled his body back up with the help of the metal gate, he instinctively checked the dark space behind him, thinking to himself that if by some egregious twist of fate a walker were to happen into his immediate space, he would be utterly fucked. And though he didn't remember fully in the moment that they had cleared that wing completely and locked it up tight, the blood in his veins ran cold and gave him the extra little boost he needed to get moving the rest of the way.

Two doors to the left, one to the right. He heard a muffled commotion, the dying and far off sounds of a few others dropping what they were doing and running down the last hall into the dock area were ringing through the huge cafeteria and he knew immediately what door it was. He opened the large, double doors on his right and walked through, crossing the gigantic space at what could almost be called a normal pace. Through another door and another thick security gate on the other side of the room, he entered into the hallway that prisoners weren't meant to be in. The one that would lead him directly outside.

This hallway was completely black. Hopelessly black. And as the door back into the cafeteria closed, he found himself panicking a bit, in his disorientation. Once again, his fuzzy memory wasn't allowing him to remember fully which direction he was supposed to turn until he saw dusk's meek glow fighting its way through the tiny gap between the exit and the floor. He rushed forward, and within a few strides, he was pushing through the door.

The force at which he'd plowed into the hunk of flat metal caused his vision to swim yet again. He drew his left hand up to his forehead as he panted and braced himself against the railing in front of him with his right. The metal bar was slick with a cold, heavy rain that had just begun to fall. He looked out into the uproar that had overtaken the yard as he caught his breath.

He couldn't make sense of it at first. The truck was already back within the safety of the high fences. None of these idiots were laughing or hugging. They were all rushing around, frantic and worried. Daryl squinted at the situation, trying to untangle the knotted ball of action in his aching mind as Tyreese was hefting something grey and limp out of the truck's bed. Everyone else just kind of stood around with a shocked look on their faces.

He did a mental head count. He'd spotted Michonne instantly. She'd been standing in the bed barking down at the unfamiliar man to be careful. Andrea was standing off to the side, pushing away from T-Dog and Carol as they fussed over her. Maggie and Herschel were the only two who were embracing, and he could only just make out the top of Beth's white-blonde head mashed between them.

Tyreese was walking towards him up the ramp with the cloaked lump dangling from his arms, Rick and Glenn right beside him. He still hadn't seen Pru. Where the hell was she? Glenn had said they'd seen all four of them.

He met Rick's wide eyes and then Glenn's as the two pushed forward in front of Tyreese, with the rest of the group at their backs. They were all clamoring to get inside now, following the rest back up the incline. He couldn't make any words out over the jumble of thirteen different voices either frantically asking questions or shouting answers. Rick rushed over to him and grabbed him by his broad shoulders, gently pinning him back against the rail as Glenn moved off to the side and opened the door for Tyreese. The kid had that sad, tentative look about him like he did when something bad was about to happen, and he just wouldn't break eye contact with him. Why?

"Daryl-" Rick started, but Daryl cut him off with words of his own.

"Where is she?" Daryl asked, eyes moving over all of the faces in their small crowd and then back over to the truck, think that for some reason, maybe she was still sitting in it. When he still couldn't find her, he snapped his eyes back to Rick's. Rick just stared up at him, completely confused and at a loss for words. He went to ask again, louder, thinking his friend hadn't heard him over the ado, when the words died in his throat as he caught a glimpse of something. As Tyreese moved, the hood of the woolen cloak was falling away, and whips of dark hair, similar to Lori's only much wavier, messier, were beginning to peek out. He knew that dark, messy hair.

He looked to Rick and the other man saw the realization on his features. Daryl felt Rick tense and grip his shoulders a bit tighter as the pieces of the puzzle finally started to fall into place. She wasn't walking into this place on her own two feet. Something had happened.

"Look at me. LOOK." Rick said, angling his head so it was directly in front of and uncomfortably close to his own face. And for some reason he did. He glared right into Rick's worried eyes, brain still not fully comprehending just what in the hell was going on.

…Then that word came, spoken out by voice unknown, somewhere down the ramp as Pru was carried past him.

"…Infected…"

Terror like he'd never felt before grabbed hold of his body. His lungs stopped working for a second. He felt his eyes cross and his knees buckle a bit as he sank into Rick.

"No..." he breathed, "No."

What kind of person had he been all his life to deserve such a cruel joke to be played on him now? To find the only woman he'd ever loved in what was left of this horrific world, lose her, and then have her find her way back to him against immeasurable odds, only to die at their fucking doorstep as he looked on, helplessly? Life was mocking him. It was laughing in his face as he stood limp against Rick and it made him angry. He felt rage growing inside him suddenly. It was boiling up from the balls of his feet, giving strength to his grief stricken knees, and helping him rocket himself out of Rick's grasp.

"NO!" he bellowed, pushing at Rick's arms.

"T-DOG!" Rick shouted, begging the other man for help. Daryl was making angry, ferocious screams and growls that none of them had ever heard come from another human being before. Had they not known better, a few of them would have thought that a bear or panther had somehow made its way into the prison gates with them. A few rushed forward, back into the building, while others backed up, pinning themselves to the wall behind them, all in the sake of staying out of Daryl's way as he fought to peel out of Rick's grip. As T-Dog pushed closer through the group of people gathered behind Tyreese, Daryl broke free from Rick and barreled into and then past him as if the solidly built man hadn't even been there at all. Daryl had no idea what he was even trying to accomplish. No idea what he would do once he got to her. All he knew was that he had to catch up with Tyreese and _see _her. _See_ just why she was being _carried_. He needed to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that limp bundle in Tyreese's arms was her.

Battling the pain in his head as the group made their way back through the cafeteria, he surged forward past Michonne, who was still on Tyreese's heels, yelling at him not to jostle Pru too much. He reached out to grab for Tyreese's shoulder to either slow him down, or turn him around so he could get a look at her, but in his weakened and dizzied state, the much larger man's quick-paced locomotion ended up towing him forward for a moment before Daryl's steps faltered.

He felt someone at his back catch him beneath his arms and struggle to help him to his feet. Upon turning, he met Carol's eyes as he tried to push out of her grip, but as he pulled forward, she shook her head and lightly pulled at him as she laid her other hand across the top of his forearm. He wanted so badly to just rip away from her, but her slight touch stilled him.

"Herschel needs to check her out." She said firmly.

"She's _bit_!" he shouted as if accusing her of being the one to have done it. Rick caught up to him then and put a hand to his back. He shook it off by flinging his arm out sharply as he backed to the wall, panting, and watched Tyreese carry her through the remainder of the room with Michonne and Herschel and Maggie hot on his tail.

"She's not bit." Beth said as she and Lori came to stand in front of them. He turned his attention back to the pair as they clung to each other, Lori filling in as a family member for the girl. He looked Beth up and down once, taking in her muddy clothes, her bruised arms, and her torn, swollen lip. She was a mess. She looked like she'd been trampled by a herd of walkers. He was glad to see the girl in one piece, but man, did she look like hell. The thought of Pru being worse off than her made him even angrier and he found himself snapping at the poor thing before he could get his tongue under control.

"Then what?!"

He felt awful as the shouted words left his mouth, but to his surprise she didn't wilt or shrink back under his harsh tone. In fact, she looked him straight in the eye and replied without an ounce of meekness.

"Everything but…" she said sadly. He gnashed his teeth and snarled as he looked back and forth between Carol and Rick and then took off again, storming back through the large mess hall and into the dark corridor that led down to the infirmary. They were all at his heels again; Rick, Carol, Lori, Carl, Beth, T-Dog, Andrea, Chris, and Glenn. It looked like a funeral procession in fast forward. As they neared the infirmary he heard Andrea call out from the back of the pack. He turned a bit too quickly and felt a wave of nausea nearly bowl him over. He braced himself against the wall with his back and swallowed the acrid, burning bile back down as he looked up to her.

"Daryl…It's bad." She whispered as tears began to soak her eyes, preparing him for what he was about to see. He heard Herschel, behind him and well into the body of the expansive room, ordering Maggie around and telling Michonne and Tyreese to stay back. He sucked in a harsh, heavy breath, and looked away from her, across the hallway at a point of light that had reflected off something in the room he was about to walk into. He couldn't take the look on her face, and for a brief second, mind, body, and will weakened by his injury, he almost lost it. He almost let Andrea's falling tears drag him down along with them.

_Look'it the light. Look'it the light. Look'it the FUCKING light._

He exhaled loudly as he hammered the side of his balled fist into wall that was holding his weight up and looked to Rick one more time. Familiar, angry sneer back at his lips, and turned to enter the room in which he'd awaken mere minutes before.

The only light in the room was from a very bright lamp that had been aimed down onto the space where they rested her body, and as it reflected off the white lined sheets beneath her and hit off walls, the dried blood there sucked in most of that light, and drown the space in deep sepia tones. He could see her booted feet at the end of the bed he'd just been laying in. Tyreese, Herschel, and Michonne were facing away, into the light, and he could see Maggie just beyond them on the opposite side of the gurney, as she moved quickly to start an IV. She looked up at him as he advanced and alerted Tyreese to his approach.

"Don't let him-"

But he'd moved too quickly, even in his broken body, for Tyreese to grab onto him successfully, at least not before his head poked around Tyreese's massive arms. He caught a flash of pale skin, and purple, and that unmistakable ruddy color before he managed to push away, backwards. He darted to the side, swerving out of the big guy's reach and for the briefest of instants he felt a bit victorious as he moved closer to the bed. His feet locked to the floor as his eyes fixed on the color whose name he couldn't think of and his scrambled brain caused his pupils to dilate, letting too much light in suddenly, or so he thought. He shook his head again, pleading his eyes to do their job and focus, when they finally did, all at once he wished he could take it all back.

There were no words. There were no thoughts. He stood transfixed on the sight of her prone, sickly form for a long moment before the used air in his lungs charged its way back up his windpipe, yanking with it a powerful, anguished moan that ended in a crack.

"FUCK!" the word came in on a scream, and the force with which it had left his chest caused him to lose his legs. He crumpled to the cold epoxy as Rick and Carol ran into the room and over to him.

"Oh god." Rick whispered as he looked upon the unconscious woman before him, his own feet stilled by the sight of her. She might as well have been a walker. Her face. That arm. The road rash at her right thigh. She was torn to shreds.

Daryl vaguely registered the feel of arms around his shoulders as he wailed and gagged on sounds that were meant to be profanities. Had he seen her correctly? He couldn't will himself off the floor to check at this point if he'd tried. Grief, like a raging river, had seemingly washed his feet downstream forever. As he cupped his injured head in his hands and continued so cry out in pained sobs, a soft voice fell upon his ear.

"I know," She chanted as she pulled him closer, "I _know_."

He wanted to fight. Fight the asshole who'd done this, fight the pain, fight every object in the room, fight Carol, even, but it was all too much, and as he retched again, he found the same darkness that had surrounded him before, licking at his eyes again and welcoming him back into its embrace.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey loves! This is not an actual chapter. Sorry for the blue balls! I just wanted to give you guys all a heads up(and apologize!). I know it's taken me longer than usual to get this next chapter up, but it's going to take an additional bit of time, right now. As of today, it's only about half done.

I KNOW. I KNOW. But it's been kinda crazy around here, lately. I have good news and I have bad news to go along with it.

Bad news first: Starting tomorrow AM(9/13), in addition to my crazy job as canine trainer/wrangler, I'll also be house/pack sitting for my friend for a week(she has 16 dogs and 8 cats), as well as taking on one of her training clients while she goes on vacation. This is awesome and I'm excited. BUT. The only internet access I'll have will be through my phone and it's JANK as hell. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...It will probably be another week before I get the next chappy up. BUMMER.

GOOD NEWS: With no internet/tv for a week, I'll be doing nothing but writing(and playing with pups!) for a week! So I'll probably have more than one chappy for you guys when I'm back! SO YAY!

I've gotten all your reviews, and I'm also stoked that I suddenly have a BAJILLION new followers for both Yoke and Yoke:TCS! I love all of you, and I'll be responding to reviews in the coming chapter. Keep the reviews coming guys! I love to hear from you!

If, in the meantime, you want to follow my rantings about dogs and vegfood on Twitter, you can follow me. LuuuCifer

Hope you're all still interested when I get back! Much love!- Laur


	7. Chapter 7

**Well. I'm alive. I survived a week of nothing but work and a house with no tv or internet and only a pack of dogs. Another day and I might have started backing and trying to lick my own butt.**

**I got this chapter finished, though, it isn't exactly what I'd wanted it to be...But then again it is. Not only is he struggling with this harrowing situation now, but you can see more that he's _trying _and becoming his own person...Idunno. You'll see what I mean when you read it. Please tell me what you kids think, but know this, the fire in Daryl's belly hasn't gone out...We'll see THAT Daryl again. Soon =)**

**Speaking of which, HOLY BALLS, the number of new followers(to both stories!) I've had over the last two weeks! Hello! You're all awesome! And to my reviewers and everyone who's sent me PMs...Thank you and much love. AND APOLOGIES! I'm so sorry I kept you waiting this long for a new chapter.**

**As I promised, I got to work on the next chapter, as well, but it's not quite ready to post yet, so you'll have to wait a bit longer for it. I know. I suck.**

**Keep up with the reviews and the Favs and all that good stuff, guys. You're all what drives me.**

**Love & Licks(lol dog humor)- Laur**

* * *

The new day brought with it a cloudless sky and a bold, autumn sun that shined so brightly through the set of barred windows, that even from across the room, in a bed against the wall, he'd begun to stir when the light reached his closed eyes. He remembered right away what had happened the night before. There was no way he could ever forget that; how she'd looked. The sight of her beaten to a bloody pulp on that bed would stay with him for the rest of his life.

He pulled himself from the bed slowly and gently, cradling his still hammering head in his hand. Carol had fallen asleep in an office chair that had been wheeled to the foot of his bed. He moved around her quietly in his bare feet and staggered his way over to the bed Pru had been put in. They'd made sure to put him out of the way. The space between his bed and the one she was in felt like a mile on his stiff legs.

When he reached her bedside, he had to brace himself against the bed's metal railings to keep his knees from going out again. The sight of her was no less jarring now than it had been the evening before. In fact, he felt the ache in his chest more so now that he was up close and only inches away from the marks that marred her body. He grimaced in disgust and sadness as he stood over her, taking in the colors that painted a terrible and vivid mural that depicting what she'd been through. The aubergine, the citrine, the cardinal, and the ash all playing together on her pallid canvas. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, swearing quietly as he struggled to hold himself together.

When he brought his eyes back down to her again, they fell to her cheek and the brand, with its red, inflamed edges, which had been embossed there. It was a large, single, uppercase character, and right away, he knew who'd scrawled it there across her skin.

" _D _"

And he promised to himself and to Pru in his head that the man responsible- Deacon- would pay for each mark with his own tincture.

He stood over her for a very long and very quiet time. The silence in the room was deafening. He'd only been to a few wakes and funerals in his life, but from what he could remember of them, this was exactly how they'd felt. Heavy, still, and gut-wrenchingly quiet. And the more he thought about funerals and wakes, the more he found himself worrying that the still form in front of him was now a vacant, soulless shell. His eyes watered a bit at the thought and he bit at his bottom lip angrily. He wanted so badly to touch her, to check if she was still to be counted among the living, but an overwhelming fear of the cold and rigor that had become all too familiar a feel in the recent months was keeping his hands white-knuckled to the steel bedframe.

_I don' even have anythin' to… If…_

Finally, after another long pause, a hasty swipe at his eyes and nose with the back of his wrist, and sharp exhale he slowly pried his hand from the cold metal. His trembling digits drifted, inch by inch, towards her limp hand. As his calloused fingers were about to brush across her palm, a quiet voice came from somewhere in the room and nearly caused him to jump clear out of his skin.

"She's still got a fever." Glenn yawned from the chair on the other side of the bed. Daryl hadn't even seen the kid. He'd been too focused on Pru to realize that he'd been just a foot or two to her right. Daryl blinked at the him and huffed in half-hearted annoyance.

"Sorry," He said as he began to pull himself from the office chair that matched Carol's, stretched, and made his way around to the other side of the bed to stand next to Daryl.

"You should sit."

Daryl shot the kid a look, eyes narrowed but still dewy, before letting them fall back to Pru's face. Glenn returned Daryl's look with one of his own. It was a soft, exasperated, weary look that Daryl didn't see, but could feel and hear when he spoke.

"C'mon, man. You're head's cracked open. So just..." Glenn trailed off turning his eyes away as he tucked his handgun, pulled from his waist at some point in the night and placed on the tray next to the bed, back where belonged. He reached for the back of the rolling chair and shoved it gently but purposefully behind Daryl's legs. He looked up from Pru's sweat soaked face at the soft impact the seat made at the back of his knees and back up to Glenn.

"When'd you go an' grow a damn spine, Glenn?"

Glenn let go of the chair and scrubbed at his face with both palms, trying to wake himself further. He pushed out a puff of air from his mouth as he dropped one hand to his side and left the other aloft to scratch at the back of his neck.

"When'd you start calling me 'Glenn'?"

Daryl grunted quietly, ignoring the question and grabbed the back of the seat to pull it closer to himself and the left side of the bed. He sat down heavily in it. Despite the long period of sleep he'd just awoken from and the two days of being zonked out before that, his body was back to feeling heavy and wasted. He scooted up to the bed, as close as he could get. From there he could smell the Isopropyl that soaked the rag that had been set against her burning brow to help her temperature down. He slouched back in the chair and wiped at his eyes again. At this point he'd grown too exhausted to hide the movement from anyone. He rested his elbow against the cushy leather pad on the arm and brought his hand to his mouth so he could worry away at his already painfully short nails with his teeth.

Both men were quiet for a long time before Daryl finally worked up the nerve to reach out with the same hand to try and touch her skin again. He drew it back once and then a second time. On his third move he managed to steel himself enough to brush a ringlet of sopping hair away from her face with his fingertips. He was relieved that when he made contact with her skin she didn't feel like a cold, dead block of ice. All the same though, the fear lingered. She was the complete opposite of cold and dead. She felt like she was made of smoldering coals. Like she was the embodiment of the sweltering Georgia summer. He hissed at heat as he cleared some more of the hair away from her wet, painted neck.

He couldn't take his eyes off that goddamned letter.

"She been awake at all?" he asked as he stroked her scalding skin with his thumb, voice deeper and quieter than usual. When Glenn didn't answer after a few beats, he looked over to him, eyes demanding an answer. Glenn sighed and shook his head.

"No. Not really…"

"What's _that _mean?" Daryl asked gruffly. He was becoming aggravated. Why could no one ever give him a straight answer? Glenn shifted from foot to foot, feeling the pressure of Daryl's gaze and caved after a second.

"She was up. Kinda…When Herschel was scrubbing her arm out…She just... screamed... for a while and passed out again, though."

Daryl swallowed, regretting that he'd pressed the kid for the answer after hearing it. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. He didn't know what he'd expected to hear, actually, but it certainly wasn't that. He hadn't been ready for _that_. His eyes fell to the floor as the room began to vibrate again.

"…But I don't think she'll remember that, though." Glenn offered a beat later, obviously trying to be helpful. When Daryl turned another teary glare to him, Glenn just shook his head and averted his eyes once more. Daryl turned back to Pru again, careful to avoid her swollen, bandaged arm, and rested his forearm along the pillow next to her head as he began lazily sweeping her hair back out of her face completely.

"She talked, though," Glenn said a moment later, "…Last night. In her sleep. I tried talking back, but she stopped after a few seconds."

"What she say?" Daryl said without looking away from her. Glenn shrugged.

"A few things that I couldn't make out. Mumbling. Then she said some guy's name…Elijah or Eli…Or something. Idunno. And then I tried talking to her. Asked her if she wanted to open her eyes…And then she said something weird, but she was talking to you."

Daryl turned and quirked an eyebrow at him, asking what it was wordlessly. He hoped it wouldn't be another horrible tidbit that would make him want to crawl into a hole and die.

"She scrunched her face up a little…Like she was mad, yanno? And then she goes, 'It's just a hog, Daryl. Don't be a fucking baby.'" Glenn recited, wincing upon saying the last bit as if Daryl was going to throw something at him. But he didn't. Instead he let out a quiet, surprised gasp of relieved laughter.

"Fuckin' bitch." He smiled faintly as he shook his head at her unmoving body in awe and a bit of humored embarrassment. He tugged very lightly at a strand of her hair and then let it fall from his fingers, bringing his hand up to his sore head to rub at the uninjured side.

"Yer awright. Yer _fine_…She's gunna be _fine_." He said quietly to her, though he wasn't sure if she'd be able to hear him or not, and then to himself as he drooped back into the leather of the chair again. He felt a hand fall to his shoulder and he didn't even need to look to know that Glenn had inched his was over. Annoyed at the feeling as well as with the fact that he hadn't been allowed to properly revel in the very tiny, yet very happy and personal moment alone, he huffed but didn't pull his eyes off his woman when he spoke to the younger man.

"Don't touch me, kid." He grumbled. Glenn jerked his hand away quickly and then backed up as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Right. Okay…I'm gunna go see if Herschel's up yet. So he can, uh, check on you…Both. Both of you." Glenn said nervously as he backed away. A second later, Daryl pulled his eyes from Pru and looked to the now empty spot where the young man had been standing. He sucked in a breath as he listened to him trying to wake Carol.

"Glenn," he called quietly over his shoulder as his hand drifted back through the bed's railing, arm stretching almost uncomfortably to find a piece of Pru's knotted waves. Glenn looked up as he helped a bleary eyed Carol from her chair.

"Yeah?"

Daryl chewed at the inside of his cheek for a second as he wrapped the strand around his fingers. He counted the loops he was able to make with it somewhere in the back of his head as he worked the words out. He cleared his throat and let her hair go.

"Thanks."

"Yeah," Glenn said as he smiled at the back of his head and turned to walk out of the room with Carol, "Anytime, man."

**. . .**

He shifted and fidgeted and paced in the background as Herschel and Maggie checked her out and changed her IV bag and bandages. When Maggie pulled back the bandage, sticky with blood and pus from the wound on her arm, she groaned a bit in disgust as she dropped them into a garbage can at her feet. Her father looked up from the thermometer as he pulled it from Pru's mouth and reprimanded her with his look.

"I'm sorry." She mouthed as she began gently cleaning and dressing the wound. Herschel looked down to the thin, plastic strip in his hand and then tossed it, too, into the garbage.

"103.6," he said dolefully as he checked her pupils, "Only came down one so far."

Daryl wasn't a doctor but he _knew_ that wasn't good. He crossed an arm over his chest, tucking the hand up underneath his arm and brought the thumb on his opposite hand to his mouth to gnaw at it. He grimaced at the pain. His nails were just about worn down to the raw beds in a few places. He looked at the stinging, exposed flesh angrily and then tucked the offending hand into the pocket of the hoodie he was still sporting.

"'S'somethin' though. Right? Better'n nothin'?" he asked. Herschel looked up from his work and took a second to blink at Daryl before shaking his head a bit. It didn't mean anything, really, except that the fever was basically holding strong. Deep down Daryl knew it. Herschel went back to flicking the tiny light into the eye he'd pried open and as Daryl watched, he huffed at his own ridiculous hopefulness.

A second later, the older man sighed and turned to the IV bags that hung off to his left, above the bed. He picked a new one, round and full with liquid, up from the tray at her bedside and exchanged it with the other one that had been left to drain into her arm overnight. As he rolled the line open, he turned back to Daryl and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"That arm looks like a pound of ground chuck-"

He stopped himself from continuing and looked up across the bed to his daughter. She gave him some look that Daryl couldn't place for a moment. Angry, perhaps, like the look Herschel had dealt her just a moment ago, but not quite. Her narrowed eyes were more tentative than aggressive. She looked to Daryl then but only for a second, before allowing her eyes to dart back down to the bed to take in nothing in particular.

Warning. That's what it was. That look was warning.

"You see those bags?" Herschel spoke again suddenly, causing Daryl to pull his eyes from Maggie as she slathered Pru's wounds in what looked like a thick kind of iodine. He turned back to look over to where Herschel had indicated; The IV bags that dangled off to her right, lines snaking their way into her veins. He nodded a bit.

"One of them is a broad spectrum antibiotic." He said. Daryl grunted his acknowledgement, knowing what they were, but unsure of where this guy was headed with this setup of his.

"Yeah, an'?" Daryl asked tersely. Herschel turned away and rested his palms on the mattress in front of him, angling another look over to his daughter. She didn't look up this time. She just shook her head and said nothing.

"This infection is very severe… So much so that I don't think medicine alone is going to help her beat it."

Daryl took a step closer and glared over at the man and then his daughter. She stopped wrapping Pru's arm back up long enough to glance over the bed to him. Her expression had softened tenfold. Her warning look had shifted into a doleful one. His scrutinizing eyes skipped back to her father again, suspiciously.

"Stop beatin' 'round the goddamn bush. M'tired of this shit." He said through clenched teeth. Herschel responded by standing back to his full height and looking deep and hard into his eyes before speaking again.

"She's torn up, Daryl… Everywhere. That arm there is an albatross. It's a burden on her immune system…I think she'd have a better shot at making it through this if-if that arm came off."

Daryl blinked at his words. Once. Twice. Three times before he was able to process what the man said to him. When the room stopped pitching left and right, Daryl managed to clear his throat enough to quietly voice his take on the matter.

"No." he said quietly as he shook his head just a bit. It was as if he walking past some vagrant on the street who'd set up shop to beg for change directly outside a liquor store. A quick and curt answer to a question that shouldn't have been asked in the first place.

"No, you ain't takin' that girl's arm."

"She could die if we don't do this. If she gets any worse, her organs are going to start to fail… It's something we need to consider." Herschel said as he turned back to place a few items back to the tray.

"Well you go on an' consider all you fuckin' want…" he said as he shook his head at the man, voice growing louder as he continued, "You take that arm an' she's as good as dead without it. How's she s'posed to hunt an' help protect yer sorry asses with one arm? Huh?!"

"Your brother seems to do just fine without." Herschel voiced, fixing Daryl with a bit of a glare. He'd meant it as a barb, and stick it did, deep into Daryl's normally tough hide. Perhaps he'd said it out of frustration, but the reason didn't matter. It was a cruel thing to have said, especially now, in the room they were in, while discussing what they were discussing. And who knew why the old man, normally even-tempered and urbane, had said it? A ferocious snarl made its way across his lips, warping and puckering them up. He edged a bit closer to the old man, doing as best as he could to look formidable.

Daryl Dixon had never been good at debating a topic or arguing. In fact, throughout his entire life he'd pointedly avoided arguments. Arguments involved manipulating words and bending them into sentences that made sense and worked in his favor. When he was at his best he'd never felt confident enough in his ability to communicate verbally, let alone in the heat of the moment, when his temper caused his mind and his tongue to knot together. No, Daryl Dixon had never been good at arguing. He'd always been much better at _fighting_.

…But for some reason, be it exhaustion, his injury, the sight of the woman on the bed in his periphery and the fact that if he'd clobbered the bastard he'd not know how to care for her, or maybe that he'd just grown so goddamn tired of that—fighting—being his life, he deflated most of the way. He rocked back onto his heels a bit and tore his eyes away from Herschel's to look between him and Maggie a few times as the anger on his features died and gave way to a sort of desperation rarely, if ever, seen in his eyes.

"My brother- That guy's a fuckin' _animal. _He did that shit to himself knowin' full well what it meant fer 'im after… She," he began as he angled a finger towards where Pru lay sleeping, passed out, or comatose, "…She don' deserve this. Any of it."

He began to pace a bit, stalking back and forth now more towards the foot of the bed. He shook his head, making his case to the silent room more than just to Herschel.

"…Wake up after what she gone through to look down an' see nothin' there. An' ya'll ain't just gunna take her _hand._ Look'it! You can't tell me that you really think that arm comin' off is gunna make a difference. It's up inta her shoulder! LOOK!"

He gestured wildly, flinging his arm out in the direction of the bed, indicating to the spot he was talking about. The infection had indeed visibly spread up into the skin around her shoulder. Beneath the rich inkiness of her tattoos, the few on that appendage left untouched by Deacon, the redness, inflammation, and swelling could just be made out. Herschel didn't need to look. He'd know it was there.

The door swung open, far off at the end of the room. The woman who entered was carrying a stainless steel food tray that topped a small stack of what looked to be a handful of books. She was clean now, her hair back to its normal radiance, and only a few small nicks, bruises, and cuts stood out against her otherwise flawless skin. She'd weathered the storm far better than the other three.

She smiled over at Daryl upon realizing he was awake, up, and around, but her expression fell to match his after she glanced around the room. She walked over, not saying anything, but keeping her eyes locked onto his as she set the books and the food down onto the side table next to the rolling chair he'd pulled up to the bed before. She side stepped Maggie, who was finishing up with Pru's seeping arm, eyeing the back of her head and then made her way to Daryl's side.

"What's going on?" Andrea asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. Daryl looked down at her for a long moment before just shaking his head at her and going back to Herschel's eyes.

"I'm not saying—" Herschel began to speak, but Daryl abruptly ended his words with his own.

"She could die either way. I know well as you that she could die just from you takin' it off, the way she is… I'd rather her go out in one piece. " Daryl continued to argue.

He saw out of the corner of his eye that Andrea's mouth fell open a bit. The woman lifted an arm in an attempt to physically slow the conversation enough to make herself part of it. She looked between the two men.

"Wait. You want to amputate her arm?" she asked Herschel, her voice full of incredulity. He sighed and tucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he blinked down at the floor. As he didn't need to look at the wound before to know the infection was well up past the arm in question, he didn't need to answer now, knowing the gravity of the situation that hung in the chilly, stale air around them was telltale. Andrea looked between them again when she didn't get a verbal confirmation.

"He ain't gunna do it." Daryl said, as he wobbled a bit in his spot. Andrea looked at his profile hard for a moment.

"I'm trying to tell him that I think she'd have a better chance if we did this." Herschel said, a bit quieter now, as if trying to work Andrea onto his side of the debate. She looked at Herschel for a second before she moved from where she was standing to pull the rolling chair back towards where Daryl was sitting. For once, he gladly took it without being asked to sit. Once his weight was fully into the chair, he looked back up to her as she asked her next question.

"Is her arm itself beyond help?" she asked. Herschel raised his brow and shook his head, drawing in a deep breath.

"Not yet."

"Then why are we even talking about this?" she said stubbornly. Daryl's head snapped to his right to face her. He hadn't been expecting to hear that, not used to having people back him on things.

"If you can say, without a doubt, that amputation is going to make her better and that she'd make it through the shock of having it done… Then maybe that might be the answer...But something tells me that her odds are about the same either way when you factor all that in."

"I can't say for certain that she'd make it. You're about right." Herschel said honestly. Andrea looked away from him and back to Pru as she settled her hand on the high back of Daryl's chair almost urging him to give his answer one more time. He rubbed at his face and leaned into the chair and away from Andrea a bit before he croaked out on more time.

"Leave 'er be… We gotta let 'er try."

And that was it. The end of the discussion where in he'd made one of the easiest decisions of his entire life. He looked up at Herschel and watched him nod his bowed head and grab a bottle of pills off the tray. With a final look to Pru, he started to make his way to the foot of the bed, where Daryl was sitting. He held out the bottle of pills for him to take and Daryl looked up at him.

"Take one of these with your food for the pain. And I _mean_ 'with your food'. You need to eat." he said sternly as he pushed the pills into Daryl's waiting hand. Daryl grunted and tossed the bottle onto the thin, scratchy blanket in front of him. The bottle rolled around a bit, rattling with its contents and settled by Pru's hidden right foot.

Herschel sighed and shook his head at Daryl's quiet attempt to be obstinate as he rounded the back of the chair and went to leave the small group gathered bedside.

"Maggie," he called as his hand fell to the door knob without looking back, "Go check on your sister when you're finished up here. I'm going to go see if I can't find Carol so I can check on those stitches."

She laid Pru's hand down neatly on the bed and went to grab the rag at her brow to add a bit more rubbing alcohol to it. "Okay, Dad."

Herschel nodded and opened the door out into the dim hallway and then ghosted it closed behind him. The sound of the latch on the door catching in its little, metal bracket was almost inaudible under the sound of his footsteps as Daryl listened to him walk down the hall. A second later, as Maggie folded the rag in half and laid it back against Pru's burning skin, she spoke up.

"I told him he shouldn't have even brought it up. That you'd wanna wait and see."

Daryl just grunted and fiddled with a seam in the leather on the arm of the chair. She watched him for a moment before turning her eyes to Andrea, who just smiled sadly at her. The young girl sighed and wiped her hands on her clean blue jeans and picked up the tray of food that had been placed on the little table behind her. She went to the end of the bed and crossed in front of the blonde to set the food down on the foot of the bed directly in front of Daryl's brooding eyes.

"I think you made the right choice." She said quietly as she stood up straight, cocking her hip and resting a hand there. Daryl's eyes skipped up to her for a moment, skeptical and searching, as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He nodded a bit after a second, grunting his unsure agreement before looking back at that bandaged arm in front of him.

"You better eat that food 'fore it gets cold. Those powdered eggs are bad enough when they're hot, never mind after they've sat for a while." She said, a bit of a humored tone back in her voice, as she jabbed his bicep with her pointer finger. He brushed at her hand and the feeling and she chuckled a bit as she turned to leave the room, squeezing Andrea's arm in a friendly way as she passed. When the door closed for a second time, Andrea sat down on the bed next to Pru's feet and looked towards the door. The two sat in a heavy silence, unspeaking, and just listened to the sound of Pru's strained, sickly breaths for entirely too long.

"Well, are you gunna eat or what?" she finally huffed much later as she turned a bit in her spot to face him. He looked over at her, his jaw propped up on the knuckles of his right hand, and shot her a scathing look.

"What are you? Mah babysitter now?" he spat, meaning for there to be more steam behind it than it did. She laughed a bit and shook her head, pushing the tray closer to him.

"Apparently you haven't eaten since before this whole thing happened. You need to eat something. Come on." She urged.

"Ain't hungry."

"Well at least have something so you can take your pill."

"Save it fer when somebody actually needs it. Don' hurt too much right now." He lied, hoping it would get her out of his hair.

Andrea scoffed at his stubbornness and shook her head, looking off at something across the room as she played with the edge of the blanket. Daryl shifted in his chair and pressed his pained head back into the billowy leather cushion as he scooted forward a bit again.

"She'd kick your ass if she could, right now." Andrea said as she tucked a thick, blonde wave behind her ear.

_Is she ever just gunna shut the fuck up?_

"Yeah, well she can't right now, can she?!" he snapped, finally managing to muster the angry tone he'd been trying for. He regretted it the instant it had left his mouth, though. Here Andrea was, after she'd been through whatever hell Merle and his boys had put her and the other women through, sitting up next to him, trying to make sure _he _was eating, and in good spirits, and _okay_. If there'd ever been a time in his life when he'd felt like a tried and true shit-heel, now was fucking it. He closed his eyes and shook his head at himself.

"M'sorry." He breathed as he rubbed at his face. She shook her head.

"It's fine, Daryl. I know this is tough."

He rolled his eyes but nodded at her. When he finally looked her way, he noticed the way the sleeve on her right arm was rolled up, exposing a bandage of her own there. He jutted his chin out, silently inquiring about it to her.

"Just a little road rash from when she and I fell off the bike. She got the worst of it." She said as she smoothed over the soft cotton gauze. He nodded.

"You okay, though?" he asked suddenly, taking her a bit by surprise. She nodded at first, not really knowing where his uncharacteristic outward concern had come from or how to answer the loaded question. She sighed loudly and nodded again, this time the gesture a bit stronger, more confident.

"I'll be fine." She said as she stood up and went to the bedside table where she'd placed the books. She ran a hand over the hardcover laying on top, her fingers dragging lazily across the faux gilded letters that spelled out the title.

"How's—" he waved off towards the door, unable to squeeze their names from his gullet for some reason. She looked back to him and smiled slightly as she picked up the book.

"They're okay. Resting now. Michonne's leg is nice and swollen. She'll be off her feet for a little. Beth only had a couple or cuts and bruises, like me. They're both… They're doing good."

"Those men…They didn't…?" he asked hesitantly, hoping that she would catch on before he had to actually say what he meant. He'd known what unspeakable things had been done to Pru. Herschel had sat him down and explained everything—how there was evidence of someone having had forced themselves on her-when he'd first come into the room to check on them this morning.

She shook her head, thankfully, before he had to finish.

"No. At least not Beth and I. Merle said he was '_saving us' _for himself, but we got out before he got back from the scavenging trip he'd gone on…Michonne and Pru…" She frowned.

"Who?" he asked her, his voice and expression growing dark. She sat back down on the bed again, keeping her eyes locked on the cover of the book in her hand.

"The Governor and Deacon." She said her voice completely haunted. He narrowed his eyes. This was the second time he'd heard about this "Governor" guy.

"Who's he? The Governor? …Like the actual governor'a Georgia?"

"No, he's…" she trailed off and pursed her lips then shook her head, "I really don't think is the best time to be talking about this. Especially here. You don't need to hear it yet, and she doesn't need to relive any of it, if she can hear us."

She turned the book over in her hands and looked down at it with a rueful smile at her lips before she held it out to him, "Here."

He looked at the book with disdain, angered at the sudden change of topic and that he wasn't going to get the answers he wanted out of her just then. He took it though and turned it over to look at the cover.

_The Old Man and the Sea_

"Why you always bringin' me books when I'm laid up?" he asked as he flipped through the stiff, new pages and listened as the spine cracked a bit when he opened the cover wider. He looked back up to her and she smiled.

"I don't know. You seem like a smart guy, maybe?" she joked. The humor in her words wasn't lost on him. Often, long months before, when no one knew him like they seemed to now, it was a common practice, shared by almost all members of the old Atlanta camp, to condescend to him or assume that Daryl was uneducated because of his tough exterior, heavy accent, poor use of grammar, and his penchant for violence. Hell, when Pru had first met him, she'd assumed the same thing. Andrea had been one of the worst offenders; outwardly mocking him or speaking to him in belittling tones. However, after months of him displaying his cunning and time and time again proving his worth and intellect, the stereotype she'd held to about him had dissipated. He rolled his eyes and flipped to the beginning of the story he'd read year and years ago, as a teenager.

"Yeah. Right" he grumbled, skimming the first few lines before looking back up to her, "Where'd these come from?"

"Carol said she'd found them at the Kmart that day. Figured someone would want to read them," Andrea shrugged, "…You should read to her."

He grimaced at the thought. For some reason he was embarrassed at the notion of reading aloud to someone, be they awake and responsive or not. He squirmed in his chair a bit and cleared his throat.

"Man, she ain't gunna hear me." he said dismissively.

"You don't know that… You should do it. She'd appreciate it."

He grunted after a minute, tucking the book into his lap a beat later and moved forward. Reaching out for a piece of the box-and-bake roll with jelly that was still sitting on the tray in front of him, he tore a piece off. Andrea looked down at him in amused surprise at his sudden appetite. He squinted at her, feigning annoyance.

"Gotta see straight to read, don't I?" he snapped as he popped the pill and chased it with a sip of water and bite of the cold bread. She smiled at him without another word and turned to leave him to it.

When she was finally gone, he set what was left of the roll back down onto the tray and then moved it to the floor. He still wasn't hungry, and the thought of eating one more bite, or looking at the food any longer was making his stomach churn uncomfortably. Without standing up, he rolled the chair back to her bedside and took her right hand into his as he looked around the room and then back to the door as if someone were spying on him.

"Hey…Hey," he said quietly, "You wanna wake up so you can read this on yer own?"

He looked at the side of her face for a few moments, waiting for her eyes to flicker open and look at him so she could say some smartass remark or another about him probably not knowing how to read. When he didn't get the reaction he'd hoped for he sighed and slid his thumb up to her wrist and rested it there on her pulse point. He could feel the blood beneath her warm skin rushing to and from her hand and fingers. He kept his own fingers there on her wrist as he settled back into the chair and opened the book up to the first page with one hand.

He'd read to her until she woke up, he decided as he cleared throat. Until she decided to wake up, or until he ran out of books. Whichever would come first. As long as he could sit with her and know that she was okay. That she was still breathing. Still alive.

"He was an ol' man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream an' he had gone eighty-four days now without takin' a fish…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Well here it is. The chapter that was apparently never meant to be. If you've been wondering where I was, you'll be sad to know that I was right here, in front of this computer AGONIZING over this chapter. I've had a major case of writer's block since the last time I posted, and I've struggled with this chapter SOOOOO much. When I wasn't having trouble with writing it, my computer decided to flip out TWICE deleting the entire chapter. I had t start from scratch. Then ended up hating it. Then it happened again. And again... It was rewritten about SIX times.**

**And this is the result. It's not much but it's a definite twist. Where do you think we're headed next?**

**Once again, I'd like to apologize for the wait. And to my new readers, I SWEAR. It never takes me this long in between chapters. **

**Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, PM'd me, Favorited, or Followed either of the stories. YOKE has seen a huge surge in traffic over the last few weeks for some reason, and I LOVE it! Keep the love coming, guys. Hopefully it will inspire my ass a bit more so my brain doesn't stagnate next time! Derrrrr.**

**All my love, kids! Enjoy!- Laur**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TWD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. YOU KNOW WHICH ONES ARE FROM THE SHOW/COMIC AND WHICH ONES ARE MINE. SO YEAH.**

* * *

He had her by the wrist and he was dead now. Dead and going to tear into her face with his fucked up teeth. She began to panic as she tried to fight from the walker version of Deacon's grip. She scratched and clawed and tried to hammer at the cold, vice-like hand and the head that was just out of reach. When that didn't work and the monstrosity continued to advance upon her and tighten its grip, she gave up and screamed. Screamed for all she was worth, loud and frantic, into the dull background that fuzzed up around the teeth that gnashed in her face.

Suddenly another hand joined the other one at her wrist. It was warmer and though it was gentle in what it was doing, she was confused at the feeling of the hand plucking her biting fingers from the decaying flesh around her wrist. Daryl's voice came above the snarling and drowned it out completely despite how quietly he was speaking.

"Open yer eyes, girl. Hey… Ain't nothin' got you but me."

And she did what she was asked by Daryl's sweet and steady Southern drawl. She opened eyes that she hadn't realized were forced shut and knew immediately that the last thing she'd thought she'd seen wasn't real. It took a while for her unfocused eyes to figure out what she was looking at. The haziness of her vision slowly melted away but what she was seeing, or rather, what she wasn't seeing, left her eyes wanting more.

The room around her was dark again, just as that tiny cell in the basement of Woodbury's Town Hall had been. She gasped a bit at that, feeling as though their whole escape had been a figment of her imagination or some fever dream. But the light from a candle, dancing and flickering off to her right, caught her eye and drew her head to face it.

Caught in the tiny glow was a tired, wide-eyed face that was almost too dark to make out, but all the same, she knew those features and who they belonged to. She laid, head still back against the pillow, staring for a moment, trying to get her bearings as she listened to the cold, angry rain outside beat down rhythms on some far off windows. She felt the hand, still around her wrist, squeeze a bit.

"You dead?" his voice came quiet and almost a shudder. She looked at him for a moment taking in the way his lips were slightly parted, how his shaggy, greasy hair stuck out in all directions, and how his eyes looked tired and sunken, like he'd just been to sleep for a very short while after going forever without any.

Her arm was still on fire and her face still terrible sore. That wasn't supposed to happen if you were dead, though. You wouldn't be able to feel pain if you were a walker… She hoped, at least, mind going back to some of more mangled ones she'd seen over the last-however long it had been now.

"…I really fucking hope not." She rasped, expelling a deep breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. He scoffed at that and she watched as he snarled a sad grin and came out of the chair that was pulled up alongside the soft bed that she was lying on. Slowly, carefully he pulled himself up onto the mattress next to her. She flinched back a bit automatically, mind not really focusing on _who _was drawing in close so much as the idea of closeness, itself. She stopped him from getting any closer by shrinking back a bit more and putting a hand up, silently telling him that was all she could handle for now.

She watched the hopeful light in his eyes dim as he looked to her, completely flummoxed and maybe even a bit wounded. He backed off a bit, settling closer to the edge of the bed than she could tell he'd wanted to be as he rested his hands to his knees. She looked on as he turned away a bit, watching the light from the candle that said bedside make huge, blurry shadows on the walls, streaked with what must have been dried gore, which surrounded them. She pushed herself up onto her elbows as she continued to look around the room.

They both sat painfully silent for what had to have been ten minutes as she tried to work out what had happened, in what order, and if she remembered running back onto their group. She couldn't place it, though, and decided, sadly, that what was happening right now was just another dream. A very quiet, very surreal dream. She turned back to him and watched his eyes float up to meet hers.

"This isn't real, right? Ya not really here."

His brow furrowed. He looked annoyed as he reached over and stubbornly grabbed up the hand he'd originally been holding and made to move closer again. She pulled away a bit, but found herself being drawn into his chest. As cagey as she'd felt about it as it was happening was as comfortable as she'd began to feel once the familiar warmth of his body was up against hers. She stilled and allowed him to nuzzle into her hair a bit, where his lips found her ear.

"Yer ass found _me_ this time." He said softly before ghosting his lips over her ink stained neck. Her breath hitched at the feeling as reality set in. No fever dream, hallucination, or delirium could feel that real. No dream was able to capture the warm moisture of someone's whisper, proper cadence of their words, the soft coarseness of facial hair, or the heat and the press of a familiar body, muscle and sinew stretching in the exact way a body would need to move to wrap itself around another all at once. The human mind couldn't possibly be capable of remembering such detail, even if the heart wanted to with all its being. She _had_ found him.

She crumbled into him, going completely limp in his arms as she let out a loud, shaky sob. She could feel him tense around her, not being used to handling a crying woman. For a moment, she tried as best she could to get ahold of herself, sucking a deep breath into her lungs and fighting to hold it. Try as she might, though, she couldn't quell the flood of emotions—hate, disgust, fear, and relief—that had her in a stranglehold.

He murmured to her, words as stiff as his body and so quiet she could barely make them out, but they were no less sincere or comforting. She leaned into him for a long time as her sobs wracked her body. Suddenly, she pulled from him eyes and words frantic as she clutched onto his broad shoulders.

"Oh god. Fuck. FUCK. Where are the girls?! Where's And-"

"Shhh. They're fine. They're awright. E'ryone's sleepin' now, pr'ly. S'real late, I think."

She blinked at him as her eyes picked up the faint shine of the candlestick as it reflected off the wetness on his cheek. She raised a hand to his cheek to wipe the moisture away for him, but he stopped her and roughly rubbed at his eyes with his wrist. She smiled a bit through her own tears, finding it endearing that, though his tears were literally staring her in the face, he was going to pretend the moment had never happened. Daryl Dixon never fucking cried, or at least that was what he'd have her and the rest of the world believe.

She saw a bit of red smeared there at his wrist and along the back of his hand. It had left a bit of a trail at his cheek when he let his arm drop. She slowly reached out and tugged it closer so she could look at the injury. Little half-moon slits were pressed deep into his skin and they were lazily leaking the redness onto her and making her hands sticky.

"What happened?" she asked looking from his hand to his wet eyes a few times. He snorted a bit, pulling his hand from her grip and inspecting it himself.

"S'why I asked if you were dead," he explained quietly, smiling a tiny bit, "Fell asleep in the chair… Hangin' onto you…Woke up to you moanin', an' stiff, an' tearin' into mah hand."

She collapsed back into his chest, draping her head over his shoulder so her healing but still very painful nose wouldn't brush him. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry." She cried.

"S'all right. Had worse." He muttered into her hair.

She cracked her eyes a few moments later and looked around the room again. She knew that this wasn't any room they'd had at the ranger station, nor was it the farm. The room was large, dark, plain, and unfamiliar. It also held an air about it that made it feel onerous and heavy, like the room, on its own, was vaguely frightening for some reason.

"Wh-Where are we?" she sniffed as she pulled her head from his shoulder. He looked from her to glance around the dark space. He sucked in a breath and exhaled his words.

"Macon State Prison… Found it the night—" he paused and grimaced a bit as he looked to the sheets, "…All that shit happened."

That was the last thing she remembered before waking up here in this room. Seeing the massive, bleak fortress in the distance as they'd sped down that road out front. The ominous feeling she'd had as she passed it still very present in her mind and under her skin as she now sat deep within its belly. She floundered for words for a moment, not understanding how they came to be inside of it.

"How'd ya get in here? … How?... Look at the walls! This place was probably crawling with walkers…God, Daryl, is everyone okay?! Are _you_ okay?!" she said in a soft voice that grew more and more frenzied by the syllable as she pawed at his shoulders and his face.

"Hey. Don' you be worryin' 'bout anybody but yerself right now. E'ryone made it. We're all fine…Calm yer ass down. We're all safe fer now."

It should have made her angry, the words he'd said. It should have, but it didn't. Instead the harsh words rumbled low, commanding, but tender out onto her cheek enfolded her like a warm, soothing blanket and stilled her nervously buzzing bones. She watched him shake his head a bit for effect, driving his words home.

She struggled to take in a deep, calming breath as she stilled her quaking limbs so that her hands barely vibrated against his skin. Nodding absently and blinking her impossibly wide, seeking eyes up at him, she pressed into him, needing so badly the feel of his solid body to settle her. She pawed at his face a bit desperately for a moment, still reeling from the information she'd just been given and the fact that she was even in his arms at all. She slipped her fingers up into the wispy tufts atop his head, trying to take as much of him in through touch as she could, when she was jarred again by his sudden yelp and the feel of him pulling away from her. It was almost as if her finger tips, light and tender as the touch had been, were hot knives stabbing into his skull.

"What?! What's wrong?!"

She watched him, his eyes screwed shut as he puffed a stiff couple of breaths through his clenched jaw and held her reaching hands at bay with one of his own. He was very obviously in pain. He slowly regained his composure, dragging his normal, dismissive scowl up through the pained grimace on his features.

"S'nothin'. Bumped mah head the other night, s'all." He said, waving her off. Thinking back quickly, she couldn't recall one single time the man had outwardly lied to her, or anyone else for that matter. She knew him only as what he'd always been; truthful. _Overly_ truthful if she was being honest with herself. Daryl wasn't the type of person who'd sugarcoat or soften things to spare one's feelings or ease one's fears. He tended more towards spitting truth in the raw in your face and sometimes even seemed to delight in the look on people's faces when they got more candor than they bargained for.

…But she knew, when he felt it wise, that he wasn't above withholding certain details… And she sensed that he was doing it now. Despite the pain and the lost days spent in bed, her mind was sharp as ever. Her eyes narrowed on their own as she opened her mouth to snap softly at him.

"And what? Ya knocked ya brain loose or something? What happened, Daryl?" she asked. And though the words slipped from her lips softly, tiredly, quietly, they still held a bit of a bite. He countered her look with one of his own. He'd been caught and called out and he knew it. She watched him drop his visage to the rough, woven cotton that had pooled around her waist as she'd sat upright. He was looking and then sounding very much like a criminal confessing to a botched crime beneath the intense glow of an overhead light.

"Fracture." He muttered, the annoyance in his voice was very audible, making it evident that he hated that she was able to dig beneath his front and tell when he was hiding something. Her jaw dropped and she felt as if she'd have to scoop it up out of her lap.

"How?" she asked, aghast. She watched him roll his eyes in frustration knowing he really wasn't for reliving the event, but wanting to know anyway. Bowled over with disbelief and not really knowing what else to do, she reached out a bit making as if she wanted to touch it again.

"Shit, leave it be!" he hissed as he ducked away from her reaching digits and gently but firmly pushed them away, "Don' worry 'bout it fer now. I ain't in the mood to tell stories just yet."

She pulled back feeling a bit stupid and guilty at her knee-jerk reaction to try to inspect and sooth such an injury with her touch, but still on came her need to make better his head. She began to shift on the bed, legs still wrapped up in the tangle of bedding, made worse by his weight settled on top, making her way to the edge and out of it.

"The hell are you doin'?! Yer hooked up to all kinds'a tubes, woman, sit yer ass down!" he hollered, one hand still at his scalp other mistakenly reaching out to grab at the shoulder above her ruined arm. Suddenly, the dull ache in her injured arm morphed back into a white-hot, stabbing pain from being moved around and jostled. She hissed at it and drew into herself.

"Goddammit," he swore under his breath as he eased her back down into the bed and then hushed her as if he were talking to a timid animal, "Easy, easy. M'sorry."

She brought her other hand up to the bandages and could feel the anticipatory flash of pain and the warmth emitted by the infected flesh beneath where her fingers floated.

She'd never seen it. She'd felt every inch of her skin being sliced open under the blade of her own knife Deacon had dragged it across her arm, but she got a clear look at it. It had been too dark in that cell to inspect the damage. Then, when her friends had sprung her, there was no _time _to stop and look at it. And then they'd run. And run. And run. Fleeing in fear of being shot, stabbed, raped, and beaten and there had still been no time.

"You gotta stay put… The fuck were you tryin' to do?" he asked, breaking through her thoughts.

"Idunno," She said quietly, mind still straying from the present a bit, "Ya hurt. I wanted-"

"Didn't I just tell you to quit worryin' 'bout anybody but you?" he spat.

Her brow furrowed and she ran her fingers over the white, sterile gauze wrap gingerly. She found the edge that had been tapped down to keep it in place. Daryl's hand came up and he grabbed for hers gently.

"Don' mess with it." He chided, roughly pulling the blankets back up around her bare legs.

"I wanna see." She whispered stubbornly. He shook his head again and reached for her hand, taking it and tucking it into his own, away from the dressing.

"Don'…Yer gunna be lookin' at that mess the rest of yer life…Jus' leave it fer right now." He said, all the hard-nosedness ebbing away, out of his voice and giving pass to an almost begging tone and a softened, sad expression. Her skin crawled at the thought of how bad it probably looked, and at the thought of those marks, plentiful and angry as they were, being with her forever; a constant reminder of what had happened. And at the sight of the plain anguish on his face, the way his eyes pitied her.

Disgust began to boil in her guts, deep down inside her somewhere, and it spread like a fire, long starved of oxygen and finally given air through a shattered window. It was disgust for the room its walls sprayed with long dried red, disgust for her arm and the way it burned every time she inhaled, exhaled, or thought of shifting on the bed.

Disgust for Deacon and what he'd done.

Disgust for Merle and how he'd been the monster everyone had made him out to be.

Disgust for the Governor for the egomania and his subdued savagery.

Disgust for the candle and the way it barely lit the room, and for the light in general and how no glow ever seemed bright enough anymore.

Disgust for Daryl and his tired, doleful eyes and because he was sitting there at her side. She knew then that for as long as she was around him now, every day she spent in his presence, he'd look at her with some small amount of sadness, regret, and pity, and it turned her stomach. Her face slowly wrenched into a tight, angry scowl which she directed at him. She could see the confusion slowly take hold of him as he sat there. He went to open his mouth, probably intending to ask what was wrong, but instead she beat his words back with her own utterance.

"Get out." The words, low and still raspy, rolled up her throat and out over her lips so quickly and quietly that she couldn't really understand them herself. He grimaced and moved in a bit, perhaps thinking that he'd misheard what she'd said to him. He hadn't though, and that was confirmed when she opened her mouth to repeat it.

"Get _out_!" she snarled, her words so envenomed that he looked like he'd been stung by a poisonous insect as he pulled away and off the bed.

"Are you fuckin' ki-"

"OUT!" she screeched at him with so much volume and ferocity that he nearly tripped backwards over the chair he'd spent the last few days and nights in. She leaned over to her right, reaching for the surgeon's tray that had been at her bed, still full with supplies and medications, and she grabbed whatever she wrapped her shaking fingers around first.

The blood pressure cuff, with its heavy dial, hit him square in the chest when she flung it through the air at him to reinforce her point and he ducked behind his own arms. She watched as he stood there for a moment in complete shock before she leaned over a second and then a third time, grabbing whatever was convenient, and then launching it at him with whatever strength had made its way back into her sickly body. On her fourth attempt, while whipping a box of latex gloves at him, the needle on the back of her right hand tore free of her skin. She squalled in pain and it caused him to pause in his hasty retreat from the room, but she recovered almost immediately and began firing the random projectiles at his faint shadow across the room again.

Finally she heard the door fly open so hard it must have almost come off its hinges and then slam shut behind him a second later. Slumping back to the bed, she let out one loud, final cry before she let her body go limp as she listened to the fluids drain from the IV bag onto the hard floor next to the bed. Bleeding from a new wound, sobbing, and shaking she laid there wishing that the sun would rise and pour through the windows that sat somewhere in the room, still being pelted with sleet and heavy, driving rain.

Once more, she reached over to the steel tray that sat level with her face and her bloody fingers found a book. She picked it up, and ran a finger down the stiff spine. The candle's flame danced on a draft a bit past the tray at the bedside table. She tossed the book at them weakly and the small light was snuffed out by the impact and she heard the objects clatter to the floor.

Everything was dark again. She was better off alone. He was better off without the baggage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay. Gotta say I'm feeling pretty good about this chapter, guys. Know why? **

**Because our pissed off redneck is BACK. That's right... Okay, maybe not 100% like he used to be, but let's say his Angry Gauge is reading: END OF SEASON ONE/VERY BEGINNING OF SEASON TWO LEVELS.**

**I mean, come one. The guys still has a heart. It's just a little broken right now... But I digress.**

**Hello to my readers, new and old! I love you all for your reviews and your Favs and Follows. That shit is my bread & butter and it keeps me going. Please, please, please let me know how you like the chapter, especially because I enjoyed writing this one so much.**

**NOW ON WITH THE SHOW, AMIRITE?!**

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING REMOTELY HAVING TO DO WITH THE WALKING DEAD, GUIZE. SRSLY.**

* * *

"What are you doing up and around?" he heard her ask before she gently shook his shoulder. His head popped up from the cheap, grey Formica table top and he blinked the sticky feel of sleep from his heavy lids. He drew in a breath, trying to place himself and find the answer Carol's question. As he remembered what the reason for him not being in the infirmary, though, anger washed over his head and caused the dull ache above his ear to thump and pulse.

"She's up. She don' need me there no-more." He said as he pulled himself out of the bench seat of the cafeteria table, trying to keep his temper behind the thick wall he'd been working lately to build up. He watched the woman's face light up with relief as she drew her hand to her mouth as the sound of the door to the hallway creaking open behind her back tugged both of their attention towards it. Rick walked in, dressed and ready for the day and flashed a bit of a scolding grin in his direction as if to say, _"You know you're not supposed to be up, but I didn't expect you to stay put as long as you did, so…"_

Carol turned back to Daryl, still smiling softly behind her hands, and then back to Rick again; meaning to include him in what she thought would be a happy conversation. When she finally turned back to him again, she asked the question he knew was coming next. The question he didn't want to answer because he wasn't exactly sure_ how _to answer it.

"How is she?"

"I don' know! I ain't no damn doctor! Why don'chu go an' ask her yerself?!" he shouted, thrusting a hand in the direction in which they'd all entered the room, and feeling the pressure in his head building. He watched both Carol and Rick's expressions fall as the angry words poured from his mouth. He felt like an asshole for snapping at them, but he really did not want to explain what the hell had happened during the night. He was angry, embarrassed, worried about Pru's state of body and mind, and if he was being honest with himself, hurt, and hurt fucking badly.

"…The hell are my clothes?" he recovered quickly as he paced a bit, looking for an exit to the conversation, "Tired of wearin' this stupid shit."

"She's up?" Rick asked incredulously, lifting a hand to halt the conversation. It was suddenly very clear that the man, like Carol, had expected to walk into the room where he and Pru had been for the last few days, and at some point, upon her waking from her sickness induced slumber, to see them both talking happily. That not being the case, it had thrown them both.

It had thrown Daryl.

"S'what I said. You deaf?" he answered, becoming annoyed with the barrage of unwanted questions and not paying much heed to the fact that Rick had not actually heard him say that she'd come to. Daryl's outburst caused Carol to turn her gaze briefly over her shoulder to meet Rick's. Their worry and unease was plain. They both knew something was off then and the fact that they knew made Daryl's stomach knot.

"…What's wrong, Daryl?" Carol asked softly a moment later. His hackles rose like a dog's and he hunched forward a bit as he surged towards her. A second later he was in her face, standing over her, barking out a harsh, ragged string of words that may or may not have made sense. He didn't know, couldn't tell, and wasn't interested in what he was saying to her. All he was interested in was removing himself from the room. Getting away from their concerned faces and their want to 'help'.

"What's wrong with _you_?! Huh?! Why the hell do I always gotta deal with the both'a you—Fuck!—_Everyone—_in mah business?! Askin' me what's wrong… How I am…I'm fucking _fine! _An' I don' need none of you doggin' me, tryin' to pick me apart all the time! I don' _need_ _ya'll_! …Ain't nothin' wrong with me 'sides a bump on the head, you got that?!"

Both Carol and Rick stared blankly at him for a moment as his loud, booming voice pinballed over the wide room. He hadn't meant the question to be rhetorical, and when he was met with nothing but silence he grew even angrier. His eyes snapped back and forth between them for a couple of beats.

"WELL?!"

"Yeah, Daryl. We got it." Rick said in a low, almost choleric way as he came up to his right and met his eyes. Daryl looked to Carol once more and he could see the faint hurt in her expression before he turned to Rick again. The other man's eyes were intense and burning with something. It wasn't pure, unadulterated anger. Anger Daryl could deal with. Instead, whatever Rick was broadcasting at him through his eyes rendered him cowed.

Daryl slowly backed off a bit, but kept his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched. It was then that he was able to place it; blighted hope, disappointment. And man, did that disappointment burn. He stood up straight and pulled away from Carol's face, moving his eyes to look at anything and everything around the room, so long as he wasn't looking at them.

"Now where's mah shit at?" he spat as he began to back up, still feeling Rick's gaze on his face. Carol began to storm off towards the kitchen and Daryl watched her go, genuinely surprised at the way her indignation translated so fluidly into bold, long strides. His attention was pulled away from her back at the sound of the door once again bowing open to allow another set of forms to enter. T-Dog sauntered in lazily in front of Lori's rounded and protruding midsection.

"Your _shit's_ in one of the cells." Carol called over her shoulder as she reached the kitchen doors and plowed through them. As the doors complained and groaned shut he looked over the three sets of eyes now on him. T-Dog and Lori looked aghast. Rick looked just plain disgusted. In all these many months, through everything Daryl had said or done, none of it, not even when he'd laid into Sophia for crying at inappropriate or dangerous times, had it conjured enough anger from Carol to get her to swear. Not even once. Daryl's eyes felt like they were about to roll back into his head, so he slammed them shut and snarled at the feeling of everyone boring holes into him. With a shake of his head and a curl to his lip, he weakly pushed his way past the other members of the group and back into the dark hallway that led to their makeshift lodgings, the old cellblock. A lion's den of questioning tongues.

_Fuck._

When he'd gone into the cellblock that everyone had made into their makeshift home, he found the other members of the group just getting around and up for the day. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them in their cells, moving around, soft voices echoing through the rooms. Privacy of any kind would be a hard thing to come by here, what with proximity and acoustics being what they were.

Thoughts of hushed arguments between Rick and Lori, Herschel lecturing Beth about something or another, toilets flushing at all hours of the day and night, muffled moans from Maggie and Glenn…

Carol's soft sobbing cries that she briefly allowed to escape her when she thought no one else was around…

Bars clanging open and shut. Being knocked into.

T-Dog's thunderous laugh and harsh sighs.

Carl's petulant whining and his annoying giggle.

Andrea and Michonne laughing and bickering about everything…It all mixed into a loud droning in his mind. He felt the press of the noise heavy against his very being, and he had to clear a cagey thickness from his throat with a stiff swallow. He'd been in this room for less than a minute and already he felt trapped. He shook his head to clear the noise and the imagined sounds tumbled from his ears. The room was quiet again.

It was still early. The grey light from the overcast sky outside had just been making its way through the lofty windows down onto his right shoulder. He turned his head to the left, running his eyes along the grey bars on the first level of cells. The group had taken up residence on the second level, he assumed, to be up and away from the geeks if anything ever got out of hand. It looked like the other cells, the ones on the lower level that he was currently peering into, looked to have been made into storage. He made his way over to the first open cell and peered into it.

Nothing but a few backpacks and melee weapons. Provisions left out and organized, easily accessible and ready to be gathered up if they needed to vacate the prison quickly for some reason. Someone, for fucking once, had their damn head screwed on tight enough to think ahead and make ready for anything. Hell. Had he not been so utterly aggravated and crushed just then, he might have managed to eke out a small, proud smile.

He heard footfalls on the metal walkway above the cell he was in. Backtracking out, he looked up and could see Glenn and Maggie making their way down the grated staircase, the clang of their shoes and their weight a dull chorus of plunks in the big room. He walked to the foot of the stairs just as Maggie rounded the metal handrail. She stopped short on a surprised gasp.

"What are you doin' up?" she drawled, drawing a hand over her chest to still her now rapidly beating heart. Glenn, behind her, leaned back against the railing.

"She awake?" he asked eagerly. Daryl's eyes found his feet quickly and he nodded, grunting an annoyed affirmation.

"Dad just went to go check on her…" Maggie offered, angling her head behind her a bit to look at Glenn.

"Where's mah clothes at?" Daryl asked quietly, changing the subject as quickly as he could as he moved his eyes to begin scanning the expanse of dark cells to his left. Maggie stepped down onto the floor in front of him and nodded off in the direction of the same cells.

"Should be in the third or fourth one in. I can gather 'em for you if you want… Shouldn't be up still." She lectured quietly…

Just like her father. Always telling others what she thought they should be fucking doing.

"Yeah, well I am." He said, turning on his bare heels with a dismissive roll to his shoulders and padded towards the tiny rooms that may or may not have contained his belongings. He felt them both follow him over to the open barred door, and his skin began to prickle with annoyance again.

As he reached the inside of the cell and began rooting around in the stacks and stacks of scavenged clothing, they both stood in the doorway behind him, exchanging concerned glances that Daryl was doing his damnedest to ignore. The bit of light making its way through the cell's tiny one square foot, heavy gauge screened window was just barely enough to allow him to see what he was doing.

The first thing he saw was his buck knife sitting neatly in its sheath on the poor excuse for a bed. He grabbed it up and shoved it into the front pocket of the hoodie he was still wearing. He reached down into the piles of folded clothes-most likely Carol's doing-and began to rifle through them. He found a pair of his jeans easily enough, and a brown t-shirt. Not one of his old ones, but one obviously found and divvied out for him from what was gathered from the store last week. His vest and denim, however, seemed to be missing, and that wasn't something he was going to be able to go without, especially now that the weather was what it was; cold, damp, and goddamn unforgiving.

He remembered then where his jacket must have been. Still outside, tangled up high in the razor wire of the second perimeter fence. In the rush to get into the prison safely, Rick had probably left it aloft.

No matter. A jacket was a jacket.

He continued his search, now for more layers to guard against the winter chill that hung, even in the stiflingly still air of the prison. He lifted another set of shirts and found a pair of thermals. They'd do well beneath his clothing. When he picked them up to add them to his gathered things and continue on, they revealed a layer of women's clothes. Right on top was a small, teal tank top, torn and stained in some places, but still as clean as it was going to get.

It was Pru's. The one she was wearing when they first found her. The one she _always_ seemed to be wearing under that filthy, grey hoodie of hers. He picked it up to inspect it and the thin fabric unfurled. It felt familiar and soft in his hands.

"You plannin' on takin' a shower?" Maggie's voice interrupted his thoughts, "'Cause you shouldn't go alone. Glenn can help—"

"Maggie, I don't think that's such a go—"

_THAT _was the last straw. He turned to face Maggie and Glenn, who were still standing in the threshold of the cell and flung the little teal slip of cotton fabric at the wall.

_"_You touched in the damn head, girl?!" he growled as he stalked up to her threateningly. Glenn put himself in between them, first fixing him with scowl to match his own. But as if Glenn suddenly realized what he'd done, his shoulders drooped and he averted his gaze for a second, before shooting a sorry, pleading look back at him.

Daryl sneered at Glenn and then looked him up and down. He scoffed and bulldozed roughly into both of their left shoulders as he went past. He had enough clothes for now. He could always come back and look for the rest of his shit later. As he made his way out of the cell and out from under the walkway above, he heard move feet coming down the stairs. He looked over briefly and caught a glimpse of Carl and Chris descending the flight. When Carl looked up and saw him, his face lit up and a broad, happy smile spread across his features.

"Daryl! You're okay! How's Pr—"

"Fuck off, kid." He snapped as he blew past the boys, making his way back into the hallway, bundle of clothing in hand.

** . . .**

The shower he so desperately needed, wanted, had only disappointed him. It had been rushed and painfully cold. There had been no hot water for some reason. The freezing water blasting forth from the showerhead hit him in his crown like another blunt force and he'd cried out in agony and ducked away from the flow. When he'd caught his breath, he bit the bullet and dipped back below the water, huffing and gritting his teeth against the shock of the cold.

When he'd finished, he dressed quickly and skulked back into the cell block. No one was around this time when he entered. They were all either in to see Pru or were at breakfast.

_Thank god._

He climbed the stairs slowly, making his way up onto the metal grates that made up the walkway in front of the second floor cells. As he walked along, he peered into the cells in an attempt to figure out if any of them had been left vacant. It was clear, in most cases, which ones belonged to whom. In some the bunks were still set up, in others they'd been moved out to accommodate mattresses laid side by side on the floor. There were cells that looked messy and lived in, and others that were neat and orderly. Some had only women's clothes and belongings set in them, others, only men's. Some had sheets tied up at the door to provide the occupants with the illusion of privacy.

At the end, in the farther corner of the room was one final cell with a sheet tied to one side of the barred door instead of all the way across. He looked in and was surprised and the chagrined to see another set of mattress pads lying on the floor, side by side, with his crossbow and her Berettas, his Glock and her slingshots waiting patiently for them there. He stopped dead in his tracks and frowned at the weapons and the fact that someone had gone out of the way to make the room up for them.

For them.

He snarled and tossed his dirty clothing onto the floor and moved to retrieve her guns in their holsters and both slings up off the bedding, then turned back around and headed for the stairs again. Propelled by his anger, he made it down the steps quickly, but wavered a bit upon completing them. After he stopped to regain his equilibrium, he strode back into the cell containing their things and tossed her weapons down onto the mattress started gathering up armfuls and armfuls of his clothing and other odds and ends.

After two trips and two rounds of dumping everything he had down onto the mattress in the cell he found to belong to him, he sat himself down amongst the heap. Suddenly the short morning's overwhelming events began to catch up with him. He'd been up for about forty-five minutes, all told, but after everything and after the days he'd gone without much sleep, in an uncomfortable, upright position, the bed beneath him began to beckon to him. He leaned backwards on top of his shirts and pants and socks and he tucked his arms behind his head. As he laid there before drifting off into another fitful sleep, he thought about his next move.

…What he'd do and where he'd go when he left.

** . . .**

His eyes snapped open and it seemed only minutes later. The room was dark now, though. And off somewhere else, down the long line of cells, he could hear faint snoring. Disoriented, he pushed himself up off his belly with his palms flat to the bed. He knelt there in the dark cell blinking around at the nothingness with unfocused eyes.

_I slept the whole damn day?_

He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles and huffed. Felt the lumps of clothing underneath his shins. His back was hurting now. It was stiff and sore in one particular spot. He reasoned that he must have only recently flipped onto his belly in his sleep, and as he reached up the back of his shirt and ran his fingers over the welted flesh there, he felt a few new marks. New dips and indentations. He winced and shifted and tried to work the kinks out of his muscles. His hand fell to the bed in search of what he'd slept on.

One of his boots. He grunted and cast the offending footwear away and then sank to rest his rear end on his heels as he again began rubbing at the pain in his back.

Another pain sounded off as part of an unwanted roll call. A sharp, angry pressure. The one in his head. Tentative fingers made their way to that agonizing spot above his right ear. He rested his fingers on it lightly but didn't press. He hadn't been able to do that a few days ago. The swelling had gone down a bit, too.

_Good. Sooner the better._

And another pain cried out as he thought about what he intended to do once he was done with this business of being broken. This one was dull and caused his breath to falter as it wound around him. A crushing sort of feeling in his chest at which he growled.

And another pain. Less in the way of painful really, but much more close to a nagging urgency in his gut. His stomach shifted and vibrated and moaned beneath his skin. He'd not done more than picked like a starling at whatever food had been brought to him over the last few days. It then occurred to him that he hadn't had a real meal in days. _Days_ and days, in fact. Not since before they'd left on their supply run that one morning. God, it had been almost two weeks ago now. It would explain the way his pants were sagging off his hips even with his belt settled to the last notch. Fuck. He'd be sharing clothes with the kids soon if he kept this hunger strike nonsense he'd been pulling go on for much longer.

He shifted in the spot he was kneeling, searching futilely with his eyes alone through the dark. There was a flashlight somewhere in that pile of miscellaneous beneath and around him. He'd made sure to grab one. He began groping through the clothes, sliding his hands beneath them across the thin blankets and mattresses, muttering and swearing quietly as he went.

Finally he found it and flicked it on, smacked it against his palm once or twice when it didn't come on right away. When it finally flashed on it lit the small cell up enough that he was able to see clearly to the spot where he'd tossed his left boot. He reached for it, just beyond the mattress, and in the process located the right when his weight pressed down into it as he leaded forward. After covering his feet in socks and lacing his boots up, he sifted again through the mess of belongings looking for something to layer over his thermals and t-shirt. He could tell by the way the air in the prison felt that it was a particularly chilly night beyond the walls.

He'd never liked the cold. To him, as natural as it was, the changing of the seasons, the shift from warm to cold had always felt very unnatural. The way it dug through your skin and into your bones. Made the small, delicate parts of your body feel numb and alien if you were out too long in it. The way breath changed from warm, moist air to steam before your eyes. It was like someone had added the late fall and winter seasons in as an afterthought or an odd mindfuck. And he said to himself again that he'd never liked it and liked it even less now as he found a Dickies style work jacket in his pile and stood up to gather the worn, black hoodie off the floor where he'd dumped it before.

He grabbed up his hunting knife out of the hoodie's pocket and attached it back to its familiar home on his right hip as he wobbled on the metal grates to the steps. When he reached them, flashlight in one hand, he made sure to cling to the rail as he guided himself down, taking care to not end up repeating his misstep, as he was still having difficulty with his balance and his gait. He took the flight easily enough and crossed the room, heading out the doors of the cellblock towards the cafeteria.

As he pushed his way through the heavy doors, he was surprised to see that, to his left, in the kitchen, his intended destination, there was a light on. Something moved inside behind the doors and the earsplitting sound of tins and metal cookery being jostled and falling rang out through the dark space. Old habits die hard. He had his knife and his hand fell to its hilt as he quietly crossed the room. He regretted immediately leaving behind his crossbow, or at least, his handgun.

He slid behind the serving line counter and pushed up against the swinging doors to peer in through the metal vented window. He watched as a can rolled past the door off from the right side of the room, well beyond what he could see. As he steeled himself, a million thoughts had run through his head.

Had some asshole left the perimeter fences open? Had someone scaled them? How had they gotten in? Was it only one, lone man, down on his luck and starving to death, just fortunate enough to find this place? Was it more? Were the good, honest people just trying to survive this hellish fucking life? Or were they marauders, fiends, and villains like Merle, Deacon, and their men?

He sucked in a breath and pushed through the door, silently thanking the door hinges for not crying out at his press. He slid up against the stainless steel shelving that had blocked his view of the rest of the room where someone was very obviously moving around. He readied himself to pounce as he sucked in a deep breath.

He whipped around the shelving at the very same time someone was crossing the floor around the corner. He lashed out quickly raising his knife, making ready to plunge it into the face of whoever was stalking around their food pantry.

"AHHHHH!" Lori cried out as she threw herself backwards and away from the glinting blade, the spoon and can of tiny orange slices clattering to the polished concrete floor. His heart seized up in his chest and his body along with it as he kept the sharp weapon raised over his head for a beat.

"Fer fuck's sake, woman! I near made yer husband a goddamn widd'wer!" he let his arm slacken finally and limply tossed his blade to the prep table in front of him. Next to where she'd rested her startled body. He glared at her as she tried to catch her breath, now much more tense and shaken by what could have been than he'd been before he'd come into the kitchen expecting hostility from a stranger. "The hell you doin' in here?!"

She looked up at him through the veil of her tousled brown hair and returned his glare with an venomous, open-mouthed look of her own as she panted loudly. One hand still to the table at her back, the other protectively clutching her growing belly, she ground out an answer.

"It's a kitchen, Daryl. What do you _think_ I was doing?"

His eyes narrowed further and he pulled himself away from the table looking around the room and stringing together what must have happened. A pile of cookware had been stacked haphazardly next to a second shelf. She must have knocked a can or two off the high spot she'd been reaching for and caused them to tumble down and into the pots and pans, causing the ruckus he'd originally heard. He sucked in a final breath and stood up straight. The floor was slick beneath his boots now. He looked down at the little, moist orange chunks littering the floor between the fallen cans and his feet.

"Sonovabitch." He muttered angrily, as if blaming the incident and the outcome on her. He crouched down and began collecting the spilled can and the bits of syrupy fruit from the floor. Once the mess, aside from the first stray, unopened can and the orange syrup was up off the floor and back in its can, he stood and offered the can back to her. She stood up off the table at her back and winced at the sight of the offered can. He sneered and snatched it back from her and stomped over to the huge three basined sink.

"Fuckin' wasteful." He growled as he started rinsing the fruit in the can. _He'd _eat it. When he drained the water from the can he heard a rustle over his shoulder. He turned to glance back over at her. She was tearing into a new jar of peanut butter with some crackers. He shook his head and jostled the mandarins in the can a few times.

"So what are you doing in here?" she asked over a full mouth, thick and sticky with peanut butter and starchy saltines. He turned to her slowly as his jaw fell open in wonderment at the ridiculous question she'd already answered herself.

"It's a goddamn kitchen, _Lori_. What do you _think_ I'm doin' in here? …Sure as shit ain't here for the conversation."

She smiled weakly around the food in her mouth and nodded a bit at him, rolling her eyes a little as she leaned up against the shelves back by the door. He could tell by her face that she'd expected an answer like that. Daryl had never been all too friendly with her. They weren't what either of them would consider 'friends', but she was Rick's wife, and for that-for_ Rick's _sake and sanity-she deserved at least a bit of respect. He turned from her and tilted his mouth up toward the ceiling and shook a few of the tiny oranges out into his hungry mouth. They chewed in silence for a few moments and he shifted on his feet and leaned forward to rest a palm on the end of the lengthy prep table.

The florescent lights hummed overhead and he looked up to them as he chewed. It had been a long, long time since he'd heard the quietly deafening sound. The last time he heard it was easy to place. The night before everything had really started to get crazy; he'd worked late at the fencing fabrication plant. It had been just him, and as he cleaned up his workspace and put his things away, the otherwise silent building's lights droned. He remembered shooting them a look. It was still as annoying as it had always been. He turned his eyes back to the tin in his hand and emptied some more of its contents into his mouth.

"So what was that this morning? …That little…outburst?" Lori asked, breaking the silence in the room. He looked over the rim of the can at her with skeptical eyes. She wasn't looking at him as she fed another cracker into her mouth, trying to play it casual, which she wasn't very good at. He finished off the last mouthful of oranges and then tossed the empty can to the counter.

"I just said I ain't in here to make chit-chat wit'chu, didn't I?" he retorted, trying to make clear that he perfectly comfortable sharing the space with her for as long as it took either of them to eat, as long as her lips stayed buttoned. He moved over to the shelf to where Lori had found one of the boxes of saltines and pulled another sleeve from the package. He wasn't one for gorging himself and was usually one of the groups most staunch proponents of rationing, but after not really eating for days and days and the vast amount of food they'd come to discover and collect on the last run, he figured he could let himself have a bit more than he normally would. He tore into the plastic around the crackers as she began to speak again.

"You did… But whatever you said today had both Rick and Carol upset all day. I just figured I'd ask seeing as how—"

His brow creased at the now grating sound of her voice and her insistent prodding and her insincerity. He scoffed at her words and moved forward, coming to loom over her. He was silent for a moment, seething as his flared nostrils billowed puffs of angry, hot air down at her.

"Yer somethin' else, lady," he said angling a finger down into her face, "…Ain't no business'a yer's what that was this mornin'."

He pushed off from where he stood, pulling his eyes sharply away as he went to exit the room, crackers in hand. That should have been enough. It should have shut the woman up. But it didn't.

"It is my business if you're running around upsetting my family and our friends, Daryl. It is my business." She insisted. Her words stopped him in his tracks, hand on the swinging door just before he was about to push through them. He turned back to her slowly, a surly, snarling smile at his lips over a tightly clenched jaw.

"Yeah? Is it? …Well you ain't gotta worry 'bout me upsettin' your loyal goddamn subjects fer much longer." He spat hovering threateningly again. Lori balked and blinked up at him, not so much paying mind to his closeness or his anger, but on what he'd actually said.

"What do you mean?" she asked her voice low and a bit unsteady now. His eyes squinted tighter under the press of his angered brow as he moved closer.

"Jus' what I _said_," he barked, "Once I'm healed up I'm _outta here._ Then ya'll ain't gotta worry 'bout me steppin' on anyone's toes no more."

"Dar—Wh—You're not serious?! " she stammered. He turned on his heel and grabbed his knife up off the table where he'd tossed it down before.

"The hell I ain't." he hissed as he slammed back through the doors and into the blackness of the cafeteria and made his way to the left instead of back to the right, where he'd come from. She heard her sock covered feet padding out of the room behind him.

"Daryl, whatever's wrong—What… Is this about Pru? …She's gunna be fine Daryl. You can't leave her now. She's—"

His rage flared again at the mention of her name and the disgusting assumption she'd somehow made; to think he'd no longer want her. That she was broken and damaged and somehow no longer of use to him, like a kill's carcass picked clean by carrion birds. The words tore from his chest, bitter and loud, sounding over the room.

"Don' matter what it's 'bout! It's happenin'! I'm _gone_!" he shouted, spinning to shout in the vague direction behind him, not really being able to see her in the dark. There was complete silence for a moment. They both stood in the sweeping expanse of the room. He could hear her breathing. It was heavy and it caught a few times before her quiet voice filtered through again.

"This'll kill Rick…" she said softly, sadly, pleadingly. The tone of her voice almost made him want to apologize as much as it made him want to strangle her. He sneered as he felt the words rise in his throat. They poured out of her tongue before they could be caught. He drew his flashlight from his pocket.

"Yeah, well, better him than me." He grumbled as he turned around, wincing at his own words. Flicking on his light, he stalked from the room and through the security door that lead to the exit hallway, leaving Lori behind to do what she would with the news he's just broken to her. Down the hall through the catch gates and former check points, and out the door to the loading dock area he stalked. He pushed out the door and was struck in the face by the cold, fresh air and the stench of burnt hair and flesh.

The door slid shut behind him and he moved the thin beam of light around the loading dock area and the small gravel yard area. He propped his back up against the wall, feeling his head spin a bit again from the way his heart was pounding from his mood…And now the sight of this.

The group had been busy. Beyond the cars, at the far concrete wall, the light bounced off what looked to be three massive piles of charred remains; walkers that they'd cleared from the section of the prison they were now living in. There must have been hundreds. Stacked to chest-level in one vast pile.

He slid down the wall and sat on the cold, damp concrete of the ramp and listened to the far off, muffled hiss or the dead, over that far wall, outside the gates, and over the perimeter fences. The sound soaked the night sky, permeated it along with the scent of burnt death. He looked down at the sleeve of crackers he was still clutching. His stomach churned over onto itself and he tucked them away, back into the front pocket of the hoodie beneath his jacket.

He looked back up and out over the yard and a small flash caught his attention. He looked up and to his left by the front gate. Up above the yard was an old, completely closed in watchtower. He could see Andrea and Tyreese up there, talking and keeping an eye out over both the road and the forest. He sighed and looked out over the burnt corpses again. Any and all guilt that he might have been feeling left him, leaving a spot bare in his chest for some other unidentifiable ache to take over. He swallowed and drew in a deep breath.

Lori was wrong. Rick would be fine without him. So would Carol… Pru. They all would be.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry it took me so long to get this up here, kids. Things have been a little crazy lately. I'm dog sitting again. Same pack. Fifteen dogs this time. In a house with no cable or internet. I sneaked out this afternoon to make sure my brain didn't explode out of my head. So I'm sitting here in a fucking Panera...Writing fanfic.**

**HOW DID THIS BECOME MY LIFE, GUYS? REALLY. HOW.**

**It's gunna be another long while before I update again, though I WILL be writing. I'm doing this for two weeks and I'm only a few days into this job...So hang in there. MORE'S COMIN'! I SWEAR!**

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"We can skip this today, right? Ya did this yesterday." She asked nervously as she propped herself up higher on the pillows behind her. Her voice was still nasally as she spoke, packed with a bit of gauze and still swollen from being reset days ago. She watched as Herschel pulled on a pair of gloves and opened up a fresh pack of bandages and dressing. He glanced up from his hands a few times to her before drawing in a long breath.

"Not a chance, my dear. We need to keep those wounds clean. Especially now that you're finally starting to recover. We can't afford a backslide." He said as he moved in closer. Maggie was at her injured side, pulling the day old bandages from her arm slowly and gently. Pru hissed at the tug of the cotton being removed and the sting of the cool air around them washing over her still open cuts.

"C'mon now. Lay back." Maggie said quietly as she gently pushed backwards on Pru's shoulder.

"Try to relax." Glenn pied up, doing his best to stay comforting as he guided her down by her opposite shoulder. Pru narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head a bit.

"Relax. Right, Glenn." She said sarcastically.

Maggie snorted a bit, trying to stifle her laughter as she helped Pru sink further into the bed. Glenn shook his head looking a bit embarrassed at his failed attempt at his role as 'comforting male nurse'. Pru smiled tightly, sickly, finding the humor in the situation, but not feeling much like yucking it up just then. She huffed and slowly worked to stretch her arm out so that Herschel could check it over properly. The old man moved in to inspect the injury, taking her arm up by the wrist and slowly rotated it around and up so he could check every part of it. She clenched her teeth and growled low in her throat at the feeling.

Herschel stilled for a moment. Without warning he reached out and poked at a spot on the underside of her bicep with his thumb. She drew in a sharp breath and yanked away as best as she could, still being held down by her two friends. She caught Herschel smiling a bit.

"Sadists." She mumbled, tugging her arm from him again, weakly. He stood up and moved away a bit to retrieve some of the ointment and iodine, shaking his head.

"Hardly," he said quietly with a smart look of satisfaction on his face, "It's definitely looking better today. Less red. Less pus. It's healing… We just have to keep this up a while longer."

"How much is 'a while longer'?" she asked stretching her arm back out reluctantly for him. He leaned in and began applying the ointment up and down the length of her bicep. She hissed again, biting hard into her lip and wrenching a single eye closed at the feel of his hand running up and down rubbing the goop into the cuts.

"It's okay." Maggie assured as she squeezed her shoulder softly and tucked a strand of her hair back out of her face. Herschel turned away and reached for the bandages.

"About another week and a half of this. Then we'll see how it looks. Take the bandage off, let the air at it. It'll take the good part of a month for most of it to close up and for the scabs to fall off it you leave it alone." He explained. She swallowed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, trying not to think about being in pain for a few more weeks. She looked back over to him as he began wrapping the arm back up.

"How long do I have to lay here and be useless?" she tacked on turning her head back to him as he taped down the edge of the bandage. He cocked an eyebrow at her and paused for a moment, then sighed obviously keying up one of his good fatherly what's-whats.

"Don't be too eager to be up and around, pushing yourself. It's a good way to get yourself sick again."

She shook her head again and huffed, tugging her arm back and tucking it into herself. She watched as Maggie grabbed up a torn bed sheet and began shredding it even further, tying one end to the other to fashion it into a sling.

"Here," Maggie said, moving closer to drape it over the shoulder on her injured side, "This'll make you more comfortable. Keep it from moving around a little."

"Thanks." Pru said sincerely as she slowly and carefully lifted her arm to set it into the cloth cradle. She knew the wounds were healing. She could feel them tightening and complaining as the muscles beneath her scored skin moved. She winced and when her arm was settled in, she puffed out a relieved breath that pushed a few strands of tangled hair from her face before looking back to Herschel.

"So?"

"…So?" he parroted in askance as he crossed to the other side of the bed. She rolled her eyes at him.

"So, how long do I have to sit on my ass in here?" she asked again, growing irritated. He made an exasperated face at her, firming his lips into a thin line as he brought his gaze to fix upon hers.

"Until you're through with those antibiotics." He said flatly as he motioned with his eyes to the IV bags dangling from their steel perch at her right. She looked up to the clear plastic bags, paunchy and round with fluid, and grimaced before turning her pleading eyes back to him.

"Timeframe, Doc. For the sake of my sanity. I beg ya." She said as she pressed her hand into her eye sockets hard and then moved her fingers up into her hair to clutch at it. As her fingers tightened their grass in the rat's nest, she felt another tug of pain at the back of her hand. She withdrew her fingers from the snare and inspected the back of her hand. The bruising from yesterday when she'd accidently ripped the needle from her flesh was thick and inky. She frowned at it and flexed her fingers against the sheets, the events that led her to another injury drifting back into her mind before being pushed away again.

"About another week." He finally relinquished unwillingly as he changed his gloves. She sighed loud and hard, frustrated further by the news and threw the less injured of the two hands into the air a bit.

"Til fucking doomsday," She said as she shook her head, "Can't you just give me pills now?"

"Absolutely not. You've got multiple injuries. One of which was severely infected… I didn't think you'd pull through, honestly. You've got to finish out this round, then we may have to put you on oral antibiotics _afterwards_… Then you can be up and on your feet and move out of this room into one of the cells."

"I'm not fucking sleeping in one of those things… I'm not even going near them." She mumbled darkly. Herschel stared at her for a moment before Glenn sighed.

"You don't have to. We'll find someplace else for you to stay." She looked over at him and there was that damn look. The same fucking one Daryl was sporting the night before last. He must've talked to Andrea, Beth, or Michonne about where she'd been kept. It almost made her want to vomit. She nodded, though and turned back to Herschel.

"Now let me take a look at your leg." He said, as he pulled the sheet up a bit, just enough so he could inspect her bare, road rashed thigh and hip whilst still affording her a bit of modesty. Glenn gulped audibly, averting his gaze, and stepped quickly around to the other side of the bed where he came to stand next to Maggie. Pru hadn't missed it. She smiled and shot Glenn a mischievous smirk.

"Ya blushing, Glenn?" she teased, arching an eyebrow as she reached out across herself with her good arm to prod at him with a bit. His eyes went wide at her jeering and he began looking back and forth between the woman settled on the bed and the one at his side. Maggie's brows were raised and her lips were pursed in aggravated questioning. Then he looked across the bed to the scrutinizing, heavy-browed eyes of his girlfriend's father and the look on the old man's face was enough to pull a string of stammered alibis.

"Wh- No! I- I, uh… No. I- No. No, I'm…" he said, motioning to Maggie. The room was quiet for a second as Maggie and Pru looked back and forth between the very obviously embarrassed young man and each other. It was Herschel who laughed first, though. A small, quiet 'humph' of a laugh caused his shoulders to rise and fall a few times before the women could hold to their resolve no longer.

"Pfft!" Pru laughed, staring Glenn right in the eye. Maggie began laughing loudly as she reached for Glenn's hand and squeezed it in reassurance. Herschel's chuckle grew a bit louder as he dipped his head back to his work at Pru's side. Pru watched as the relief almost literally washed over him, changing the guy's face from aghast and floundering to perturbed in a fraction of a second.

"Oh, nice. That's great, you guys. Really. Thanks." Glenn said indignantly as he rubbed at his face. Pru smiled up at Glenn and a small smile made its way to his lips, too amicable by nature to hold to even a scrap of anger for very long.

"Ya got yaself a real gentleman, Mags." She smiled as she pushed a few wayward hairs out of her eyes. She watched as Maggie turned her happy eyes to the Glenn and withdrew her hand from his only so she could lovingly touch the side of his face. Now the kid was _really _blushing.

"I know," Maggie grinned as her gaze met Glenn's sheepish one. There was something sweet and unspoken being exchanged between the two young lovers in that look, and instantly, Pru felt like she was intruding on something private. She averted her gaze, dropping it down to where Herschel was taping some large gauze pads to her thigh.

"…Daryl wouldn't be half bad if he'd stop storming around, angry as a bear most of the time." Maggie said sweetly, intending it to be a compliment as she turned from Glenn and started cleaning up and organizing the medical supplies next to her. Pru felt a wave of nausea hit her at the mention of his name. She glared down at the abrasions on her thigh as Herschel worked to cover them back up.

"Hm." Pru agreed quietly, not knowing what else to do.

"He was in one of those moods of his yesterday morning before breakfast." Maggie added absently as she tucked the last roll of gauze back into the supply bag it was kept in. Part of her wanted to ask just what had happened that prompted Maggie to mention it, whatever it was, be it an outburst, or just him stalking around, brooding like he tended to do. The other half of her wanted to sink down into the mattress and pull the blankets up over her head. Feeling guilty for whatever he'd ended up saying or doing to everyone the day before, she opted instead to just bow her head and rub tiredly at her forehead with the back of her wrist.

No sooner had she looked up did she hear the door, far off to the left side of the room, creak open. She turned to look past Glenn and Maggie's shoulders and saw Lori, belly round and food try in hand, walking over to them. The woman shot her a tight, feigned smile, which right away clued Pru in to something being off, though she returned it nonetheless. Glenn made way for the pregnant woman and pulled the bag of medical supplies off the bedside table to make room for Pru's meal.

"Other side, man." She pointed out, gently wiggling her injured arm in its sling to remind them. Lori nodded and crossed the foot of the bed, all the while shooting Pru little, nervous half glances. When she finally settled the tray to the table at Herschel's side she smiled and puffed out a small, tired sigh. Only a few months along and her pregnancy was already pushing Lori's body's limits.

"Ya didn't have to do that." Pru said to Lori, nodding to the tray of food. Lori smiled and shook her head a bit.

"Carol cooked this morning. And Beth… I just brought it over. Wanted to check up on you. You feeling any better this morning?" She said in that friendly way she had. Pru reached with her good hand for one of the pancakes and began pulling small pieces off and popping them into her mouth.

"I guess," she uttered through a mouth full of food as she shrugged, "Okay enough to be a little hungry."

"That's good." Lori smiled. The room was quiet for a moment save for the sound for Pru working the food around her closed mouth. Lori cleared her throat a bit and Pru looked back over at her.

"Pru," she began, 'Can we, uh, talk for a minute?"

Pru's chewing began to slow and finally stopped as she looked over at Lori. She felt a slight annoyance creeping over her as she stared at the woman. Herschel tore off another piece of tape and applied it to the wound at her hip, and Lori's eyes went down to the back of the older man's head.

"Yeah, Lori. What's up?" Pru asked, knowing full well what was going to come out of the other woman's mouth next. She would want the others to leave. She could feel it. Read it in her eyes as she watched her stare down at Herschel's thinning, white hair. That slight annoyance she was feeling was quickly becoming more pronounced. Lori laid a hand on Herschel's shoulder then and leaned down a bit.

"Would ya'll mind leaving us for a moment?" she asked him quietly. Herschel nodded as he replaced the cap to a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

"Just finished up here. We'll be out of your way in a second." He grinned as he pushed off of the stool he'd been sitting in.

"Thank you." Lori whispered as she let her hand slide from his shoulder and smiled to Glenn and Maggie. The pair got the message quickly and wasted no time in making for the door. The room feeling in the room was a bit tense until Herschel turned to leave.

"I'd prefer you stayed off your feet for another few days… But I know you're just going to get up and wander anyway. You can stretch your legs in here, but don't go any further than those doors. And I mean it. No further… And don't take your IV line out, either. That thing has wheels." He finished, motioning to the pole. She gave the old man a tired but satisfied smile and he returned the look with a smirk and a shake of his head as he walked out of the room.

The second the door closed behind Herschel, she allowed her vexation to get the better of her. She slumped back against the pillows that had been fluffed up behind her earlier and huffed dramatically, turning to Lori and silently asking what she was _really_ in there for even though she had a good idea what this was going to be about. Daryl had probably taken out his anger about whatever had happened on her or Carl or some other poor bastard who'd been unfortunate enough to cross his path after the way she'd carried on yesterday morning. That was almost certainly it. She'd put money on it, if monetary wares still held any value. She watched as Lori bowed her head and fussed with the end of her worn sweater, stalling almost.

"Well?" Pru asked finally, quietly. Hoarsely. Lori's attention flicked back up to the bed again for a second before they shifted down again. This time to her feet or to her belly.

"I wanted to talk to you about Daryl." She answered, and her brow rose a bit, though she kept her eyes downcast, as her words trembled out. Pru knew Daryl was capable of saying some pretty nasty things, but the way the woman was acting—the way her voice shook—it made her think for a moment that he'd finally outdone himself. Curiosity was pushing her to ask what he'd said and to whom he'd said it, but her unwillingness to talk about what had happened was still holding strong.

"I'd rather not, Lori." She breathed as she began to rub at the stubborn, gluey mess on the back of her hand that had been left behind by her IV's medical tape. Lori shifted on her feet and finally sat herself down on the edge of the mattress next to her. Pru shifted uncomfortably, but allowed the pregnant woman to relieve her body of the extra weight she was constantly carrying.

"I think we should." Lori insisted, finally squaring her with a stubborn look. Pru found herself affronted instantly and she sat up a bit straighter as if readying for a fight.

"So _you're _here to give me relationship advice?" Pru asked, cocking her head a bit, her brow rising in question as she smirked. Lori's eyes flashed with anger for a second before they grew meek again and Pru couldn't help the small bark of a laugh that left her.

"…Ya can keep it." She spat a second later as she shifted a bit under the blankets. Lori closed her eyes tightly and drew in a deep breath. Pru couldn't tell if she was frustrated, embarrassed, or outright pissed off, but she didn't care much.

"I'm gunna go back to sleep. Ya mind?" she asked facetiously as she rolled onto her side, turning her back on the other woman. The room drew quiet around them, and outside, the winter winds could be heard whipping over the prison compound's high roofs, over the yards still full of the dead, and down past the thick paned and barred windows. It howled and hummed and groaned as it roved like the wandering soulless bodies that tripped and staggered through all of their nightmares. A chill prickled at the skin on Pru's back, despite it being clothed and blanketed, as she felt Lori struggle to gather herself up off the bed and she closed her eyes to the sound of Lori shuffling off out of the room.

"…He's leaving. You know that, right?"

Her eyes popped back open of their own accord at Lori's whisper. She'd misheard. The words had bounced off the stark walls of the infirmary in exactly the right way to twist what Lori had actually said into what had reached her ears. She slowly rolled back over and sat up, fixing Lori with a look so harsh and heavy it could start a fire.

"…Whatever you s—whatever you two had it out about yesterday or—or the night before… He's leaving, Pru. As soon as he's healed, he said he's gone." Lori said as she shook her head. The blood in Pru's veins ran cold. She felt a lump roll its way up her throat and her lips parted a bit to let it out.

"He told ya that?" she panted, suddenly finding it a bit difficult to breathe. Lori simply nodded at her as she brushed her hand over her mouth and at that small gesture, Pru became almost irrationally heated and even more confused.

"Wh—why?!" She stammered. Lori shrugged and folded her arms across her body as she made her way over. Pru looked away in both disgust and distress and raised a hand, warning Lori that she needed some space.

"I don't know… I just happened to be around, I guess. I ran into him in the kitchen in the middle of the night and he just—" she paused, shrugging again, "went off… I had no idea what it was about, so I figured I'd come ask if everything was alright."

"Ya mean ya didn't know what it was about, so ya figured ya should come and try to dig up some dirt, huh? Gossip… Life still isn't interesting enough for ya with the dead walking and packs of roving redneck scumbags running around, killing people?" Pru retorted, just about done with Lori and he sudden urge to 'help'. Instantly however, she found herself regretting what she'd just said. Lori Grimes had also apparently had enough of her mouth and was quickly moving in close, looking about ready to pop her already badly broken nose into the back of her head. Pru withdrew a bit and screwed her eyes shut and her body readied itself for the blow with a sudden rush of adrenaline, causing her arms and legs to quiver furiously.

"Now you _listen_ to me, Prudence. I didn't come in here to fight with you. Now I don't know what was said between you two and honestly couldn't care less, but whatever you said to that man yesterday made him decide he's gunna go off and risk his life out there. Alone… And as suited as he is to this hell on earth, he's still not safe by himself." Lori seethed as she hovered next to Pru, palms flat on the mattress so she could loom a bit.

"Since when do ya give a rat's ass about Daryl?" Pru fired back at her.

"…He's a member of this group. I care about him as much as everyone else." Lori said, lowering her voice and backing off just a bit as she crossed her arms back over her body.

"…Right." She said, blowing Lori off and turning her attention to something of no consequence on the other side of the room. Silence filled the space between them again. She was done talking, especially now that she'd been told what was going on. Lori, however, seemed content to continue pushing on with the unwanted conversation.

"You need to talk to him, Pru."

She rolled her eyes back to where Lori was standing and waiting for her to buy into the argument she was attempting to impress upon her. Her tone took a bit of the wind from Pru's sails. It made her feel a bit weary, more than fired up, pitiful and pleading as it was. Pru sighed heavily and pushed at a phantom hair that was dangling in her face, "I can't even look at him right now. How am I supposed to _talk_ to him?"

"Whatever he did can't be so bad that you'd just…let him walk off." Lori said waving her hand for emphasis.

"Why do ya assume _he_ did something?" Pru countered, and her words very obviously catching Lori off guard. Pru swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from her and felt her lungs wanting to inflate in her chest, but for some reason unable to get past the weight settling on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to gasp in a breath, but more air just shuttered out in a rush.

Lori shuffled closer again and drew one leg up to rest her weight awkwardly on the edge of the bed. Pru looked up to her over that torn up shoulder of hers just as a warm tear rolled out her eye and down her cheek. She shook her head at herself and dabbed gently at the space between her sore nose and the lacerations on her cheek.

"I woke up and he was here. Right _there_, Lori," she hissed through her clenched jaw, feeling like if she relaxed it, let the muscles in her face slacken, all the tears she was fighting to hold back would just come gushing out. She looked up to Lori and wound her fingers tightly into the fabric draped over her lap, "…And at first I thought I was dead. Or dreaming again… And then we started talking, and I _looked_ at him… And, I—I can't explain it."

Lori reached out then, slowly at first, as if she was contemplating running her hand through an open flame. After a second though, she mustered the will to grab hold of Pru's hand as it sat in her lap, tangling further into the thin blanket. The motion and the contact startled Pru at first. She wanted to shake loose. Wanted to fling Lori's hand back at her. It even hurt a bit because of the bruising on the back of her palm, but she found the contact grounding. Lori squeezed a bit, gently, coaxing her to continue.

"Try to." She said. Pru worked to take another deep breath, and she felt the air, as it rushed in dry out her mouth. She turned her head away again, finally recognizing what that weight pressing down on her was.

"He just… He looked different. His—the way he _looked at me_ was different. " she whispered. She felt Lori's hand tighten around hers and it was pulled out of her lap.

"Oh god, Pru, if you're worried about how you're gunna heal… Or that he's not—"

Pru yanked her hand back forcefully and glared at Lori. Of course she wasn't going to get it. She wanted so badly to just push her ass off the edge of that bed, but she stilled herself and occupied her itching hand with the blanket again.

"That isn't it, Lori! For fuck's sake!..." she belted.

"Then what, Pru?! I'm trying real hard to understand what you're trying to say. And something tells me you didn't even give that man even half the chance you're giving me right now to get it." Lori countered, voice firm and matching Pru's volume. Something in what she said though, tripped a switched, and had Pru whipping her head back around for a moment, shocked into silence. She stared into Lori's searching eyes for a moment before the tears started to well to the point that the pregnant woman became a blurry smear of pale skin, chocolate hair, and pastel clothing.

Blinking the tears away she pushed weakly at Lori, who was still sitting on her blanket. As the other woman sat up Pru yanked free the covers and as did her best to gather the linens around her waist and tried to slide from the bed. She knew before her feet touched the damn ground that she'd made a huge mistake, but she'd never been one to back down really, not even when it was her own head trying to talk herself out of doing something stupid.

"What are you doing?!" Lori crowed as she watched Pru disappear below the opposite edge of the bed. Days and days of inactivity had rendered her legs about as useful as two pillars of marmalade. She heard her skin slap against the cold floor. It sounded like she was completely boneless. Like someone had just tossed a dead fish to the buffed concrete. A second later she felt two cold, thin hands hoisting her up, back onto her feet, one on the wrist of her good arm, the other around her waist.

"Let me go, Lori!" she sobbed, pushing weakly away from her grip. But Lori—pregnant, waiflike Lori—held strong and steady as Pru tried to shake her off and somehow managed to get her upright enough to grab onto her better.

"Oh, will you stop it!" she said as she hefted Pru's floundering ass back onto the bed. When Pru's body was finally settled back down on the sheets, Lori allowed herself to collapse back into the mattress next to her, out of breath and puffing like she'd just run a marathon. Pru started at the ceiling and listened to Lori pant for a minuet as she tried to stop herself from whimpering, too exhausted from that small bit of exertion to make another run for it.

Lori sat up after a bit. Rolled onto her side because of her baby bump and then sat up, looking over at Pru expectantly. Pru looked back, but said nothing. Instead she just wiped at her wet eyes. Sighing, Lori bent forward, grabbing up Pru's legs as the dangled over the edge of the bed and dumped them in a heap back onto the mattress before flinging the sheet back over her. Lori paused, looking to her expectantly again, and Pru was lost on what to do. She shimmied anemically back to her regular spot on the bed, laying her head back among the fluffed up pillows and just stared back as she caught her breath.

"Fine." Lori said as she ran a hand through her thick hair and then let it fall to the small of her back. She turned on her heel a few long seconds later to leave the room. As she headed for the door, Pru watched her go and the further and further Lori walked from the bed, the harder and harder she felt a small string tugging at her chest and at her throat. With every step, Lori was drawing the words out of her, and she felt that the woman knew it.

"He feels sorry for me…" She said to Lori's back, "He pities me… I can see it in his eyes. I know every time he looks at me from now on, whether he's happy, or angry, or whether he's talking about something completely different…"

She paused as she watched Lori turn back to her slowly. The tears started to creep back into her eyes.

"…It's always gunna be there, ya know? He's always gunna look at me like I'm broken now." She said sadly.

"'Pity' isn't in Daryl Dixon's vocabulary." Lori smiled softly, and Pru couldn't help but relinquish a tiny smile at the jab. She shook her head a bit and tucked her hair behind an ear.

"It may not be in his vocabulary, but he sure as shit looked at me with it."

Lori slowly ghosted her way back over to the bedside. By the look on her face, Pru could tell that she was trying to work whatever words were in her head so she could fashion them into something that would soothe her and help mend her heart and ego. She rubbed at her mouth, then looking as if she might be vomit, and suddenly, Pru became very aware of just how pregnant Lori was. And still the woman stood there trying to weave a few words of comfort, though she didn't deserve them. Lori swallowed down whatever had lurched its way up her esophagus and then rubbed at her chest absently.

"He was worried…" she said finally, softly, "We all were. You can't fault him for that, Pru."

Pru shook her head defiantly at that, feeling as if there was something there that Lori wasn't getting. It wasn't that simple. It just wasn't.

"I just can't stand to have him look at me that way. And he always will."

"So you'd rather him go off alone? Hurt? Tired and hungry and in constant danger?" Lori questioned in complete disbelief. Pru nodded as she stared down at her goose pimpled legs.

"He thrives on that shit." A boldfaced lie she was force feeding herself and Lori. Part of her was even trying to convince herself that she was mad at him for not coming to her with this on his own. She was trying to find anything to just have this entire thing over with. She looked back up to Lori and the contempt the woman had for her was clear in her features.

"That's pretty goddamn selfish if you ask me." Lori spat.

"Well I didn't ask you, Lori." She responded flatly. And just like that, it seemed like the conversation was over. Lori's shoulders slumped a bit and she paced backwards a step or two without turning around before she went to leave. Pru sunk back down and drew the blankets up over herself robotically.

"He said he's gunna leave when he's healed up… I figure that gives you a few weeks to change your mind." Lori called over her shoulder as she pressed her hand to the door.

"I won't." Pru called back as she fingered the frayed edged of the sling her arm sat cradled in. A second later she heard the door slam shut. She knew what Lori's next stop was going to be. She expected Rick to be in the room with her by the next morning, making the same arguments to her. She wasn't going to budge, though.

Her mouth was dry. She leaned over to the table to the right of the bed and grabbed the glass of water that Lori had brought in with her food.

He was smart. He was leaving and he'd be free of her soon. And he'd forget about her. Because he was smart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Man, this is the shortest chapter I've done in a LONG, LOOOOOOOOONG time. But really, it needed to be short, because I feel like even though only a tiny bit happens in this chapter, it kinda feels like a lot. Does that make sense?**

**I have so many new readers that I can't begin to even try to play catch up right now. I'm that backed up from not having internet access lately! So just know that whether you're a new reader/follower or I've you've been around for a while, please know I got your reviews & PMs, that they were read, & that they were appreciated. MORE THAN YOU KNOW, GUYS. SERIOUSLY.**

**Keep them words of encouragement coming. THEY ARE MY LIFEBLOOD.**

**Anywho. Here we are. Please enjoy, my friends! Love to you all! - Laur**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm not cool enough to have come up with TWD or 99% of it's characters. This is my crap excuse for fic. Hurrrrr.**

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For two days his sleep schedule was off. He'd find himself waking around dusk and wandering around the prison halls in the dark throughout the night. Sometime before noon after he'd run out of things to occupy himself with, he'd trudge his way back up to his cell and allow himself some shut eye.

Oddly enough, everyone in the group seemed to be content to let him do what he liked. Maybe it was because they still didn't want him up and around, and figured letting him do what he wanted within reason was better than fighting with him. Or maybe it was because Lori had run her big fucking mouth off about him getting the hell out of Dodge and they were already distancing themselves. Whatever it was, he didn't fucking care. But as thankful as he was he was also a bit sore about it, and bored out of his fucking mind to boot.

Despite the lack of interaction between him and the others, it wasn't easy sleeping when the whole rest of the group was up and around. Just as he'd suspected, the bustle of daily chores and activities echoed around the cellblock and woke him often. Every time a gate would close, the shitter would flush, or when someone would rush down the stairs, the racket would pull him from his fitful sleep. That shit grew real old real quick.

He forced himself to stay up the next day, or rather, he'd kept himself up by pouring over that old, folded map they'd clung to this whole time. He'd gone out to the cars, pulled open the door to Herschel's Suburban, and hauled himself up into the passenger seat. The glove box was empty, save for some napkins, a flashlight, and that worn and folded chart. He pulled it out and looked at it for a long time, going over the places they'd been, the roads they knew were blocked, the area where he knew Woodbury to be…

For a while, he even considered going over there and raining down some hellfire on those men for what they'd done to his people, his girl, like he had when the thought first came to him the other night as he sat there in the dark infirmary with her after she first awoke. For a while he considered making them all pay, or more realistically, making as many pay as he could before his ass was killed. For a while, he'd considered luring his brother out and shooting him in the face with one of those shotguns.

…Until he realized it wasn't worth it, and that pretty soon, these people wouldn't be _his_ people anymore. They'd just be some other group he'd have to compete with for food, and water, and a place in this world. There was no sense in getting himself killed over people who no longer counted him as important, no matter how fucking angry he was over what had happened to those women, and ultimately to him.

He shook his head at himself and gave the map one final once over after looking out the windshield and realizing he'd been straining his eyes in the greys of dusk to follow the thin, red highways, and the black blip cities. Steam billowed from his mouth and nostrils as he exhaled into the freezing interior of the SUV. It was going to get worse soon. Colder. And he thought to himself in that instant that he should venture further south, away from the chill in the air.

That's what he'd do. He'd move south, further down state, and maybe even into Florida. That's what he'd do…But he'd think about it some more, work out some of the details tomorrow. Right now, all he wanted to do was get inside, out of the cold, sneak past the others as they no doubt were dining in the cafeteria, and pass out.

He went to fold up the map and stick it back where it belonged, but as he lowered the thing from his immediate field of vision, he came to see another face staring back at him directly on the other side of the condensation covered window. He nearly withdrew across the plush seat into the driver's side, hand on his knife, before he realized that a walker hadn't somehow breached the fencing and found his ass sitting in the car, waiting to be eaten. It was Rick, and a second later, he was pulling the door open.

"Sonovabitch." Daryl exhaled as he sloppily folded the map and tossed it haphazardly back into its home. Rick nodded to himself, eyes cast to Daryl's feet on the floor, looking much more weary than pleased with himself for finding him. It was that crushing look of disappointment again. The one from the other day when he'd blown up on both him and Carol in the cafeteria. A silent moment passed before Daryl scoffed and slammed the glovebox shut again. He reached back behind him to where his crossbow sat on the driver's side of the seat and squared Rick with a glare that Daryl knew he didn't deserve.

"Problem, officer?" he snarked as he jumped down out of the vehicle coming almost nose to nose with the other man. Rick made no attempt to move out of his way and just stared him down, matching the intensity of the glare Daryl was dishing out to him. He felt his own look wilting beneath the pressure of Rick's, so he averted his gaze and slammed past him to head up the ramp. He felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. It quickly and forcefully spun him around, and for a second Daryl was shocked at the action.

"What the hell is this, Daryl? What's this I hear about you leaving?" Rick growled.

"Man, don' fuckin' touch me!" he crowed, shrugging from Rick's tight grasp violently, "What?! Fuckin' Lori come runnin' to you?! Ratted me out?"

"She's my wife, Daryl. You think she wouldn't have told me?"

"Yeah, yer right, Rick. Jus' like she told you who's little bastard she's carryin' 'round, huh?" he hissed. He didn't know if he winced outwardly or not. He felt like he had, but he knew his face was pretty good at keeping up its stony façade most of the time.

_He's gunna hit me. He's gunna knock my fuckin' teeth out an' I deserve it._

Rick's eyes narrowed and he seemed to be considering it; hitting Daryl so hard that he'd swallowed his damn teeth. Daryl watched him grind his teeth, heard him doing it even. Enamel on enamel, scraping back and forth as he chewed and swallowed the nasty knock Daryl had just lashed out with. He stepped closer again, coming uncomfortably close to Daryl's face. Their angry pants mixing in clouds of steam before them. It took everything Daryl had in him to just stand his ground.

"When?" Rick growled through his teeth. Daryl spun back around and began to skulk off, back up the ramp to the entrance.

"Soon as Herschel says I'm good to." He called back over his shoulder without stopping, and as he reached out to pull the door open to he heard Rick's quickened paces following him up the incline. Rick's palm landed on the grey steel and slammed it shut in front of him before he could enter the building. Daryl turned to him and glared.

"You're smarter than this, Daryl. You're _better_ than this. You know if you walk off and go it alone, it's only a matter of time before you end up dead. Either by walkers, exposure, or by men like your brother." Rick almost pleaded, counting off their enemies to Daryl on his fingers in an attempt to drive his argument home.

" S'only a matter of time 'fore we all end up dead, Rick. …'Sides. How many times I gotta tell you I'm better on my own?" Daryl said flatly, shaking his head as he jerked the door back open again. He stepped into the blackness of the hallway and immediately felt the air around him become still. There wasn't much in the way of temperature change, but was definitely more still. Thicker. Heavier. Rick's heavy footfalls sounded off the concrete floor heavily as he followed close behind him and the air, thick as it felt, waved and rippled with the sound of his paces as he caught up.

He could smell whatever was cooking up in the kitchen as he neared it. The scent pushed in on him and made him want to gag on it, whatever it was. The sound of Rick's boots, too, pushed heavy on him from behind, making him feel like Rick was actually walking on his back and not on the floor. He felt like he was being chased now, hounded. His brain felt like it was going to explode out his ears and eyes and the top of his head.

"Daryl. Daryl!" Rick called in a harsh whisper, urging him to stop and turn back around again. Daryl slowed his pace just as he reached the cafeteria doors. Light seeped out around the doors and made the immediate space almost visible. He could just about make out hit feet as they toed the line of light that ran across the floor.

"What?" Daryl asked, sounding just as defeated and tired as he felt. He felt Rick drawing closer to him at his back. His hand made its way to Daryl's shoulder again, but this time it wasn't as forceful. Daryl turned to the other man, and the look he saw on his face made him feel lower than a pile of shit. Rick looked hopeful and forgiving, and genuinely so.

"_Talk_ to her." Rick implored. Daryl brushed his hand off weakly and turned away.

"I'm through with talkin'." He said quietly, knowing that deep down, somewhere, Rick understood and empathized with him. Knowing that part of him at some point must have wanted to just throw in the towel. But Rick had stayed. Stayed for his boy, that unborn baby that probably wasn't even his, and that often insufferable woman that wouldn't have been able to survive this world more than five minutes without a man by her side. Rick had stayed after his own best friend—a man as good as blood to him—tried to kill him because of Lori.

Rick had stayed. Rick was a better man the he could ever hope to be.

He pushed through the cafeteria doors and began making long, purposeful strides across the room, intent on getting out of their and back to his cell as quickly as he could. He chanced a look over at the group that was gathered at a few of the tables. Lori and Beth stood serving everyone from a large stainless steel soup kettle. When Lori's eyes caught on him, they immediately went wide and then flashed back to her husband, who was still standing in the doorway. Daryl ducked his head so he wouldn't have to look at her again and kept walking as quickly as he could to the other end of the room.

He stopped before he reached the other door, however, a thought catching in his head. He turned on his heel and stalked over to Herschel as he sat at the table chatting quietly with Tyreese and Andrea. He stopped at the table and looked down expectantly at the old man.

"Daryl?' Herschel asked as he turned from his conversation, thick, bushy eyebrow raised in question.

"How long 'til mah head's healed up?" Daryl inquired in an unnecessarily loud tone of voice. Herschel looked a bit taken aback by the unexpected question and its intensity. He looked to Andrea and then back to Daryl.

"It's hard to say, really. I don't know—"

"How long, old man?!" he snapped. He didn't look up from Herschel, but he could tell that every eye in the room was now on him. Herschel's expression hardened as he considered what to say. He cleared his throat before he answered the redneck.

"About five, six weeks maybe." He replied. Daryl bit at his bottom lip as he snarled a bit. He wanted to rip his hair out. 'Five or six weeks' was as good as an eternity. Christ. He'd broken bones before and he always knew they too weeks to heal. Why did he expect anything different now? How the hell was he supposed to keep busy without being busy, or manage to avoid these assholes and that goddamn girl for that long? He stood back up and turned his head back to Rick, still in the doorway they'd just come through. He chewed at the inside of his mouth for a moment as he stared at him.

"There's yer answer." He announced before turning to make an exit again. He heard Lori whisper something to someone, probably Beth. Then he heard the distinct sound of metal clanging against something else metal. Like a serving spoon falling into the big pot of soup they'd been dishing out.

_Great._

"Daryl," Lori called softly behind him as she worked to pace. More distinct sounds; keys jangling, familiar footsteps. Rick was giving chase again. Then the sound stopped short as Lori reached Daryl and scrambled to reach the door before he did.

"…Daryl, please?"

"So that's it?" Rick called out from behind him, "You're just gunna run off and hide? You're gunna leave these people who _depend_ on you because your ego is a little bruised?"

As Rick's voice echoed off the walls, tables, and stainless steel counters, the group began to make quiet frenzied noises. They hadn't known. Daryl felt his lip curl into a snarl, angry at being called out like that and made out to be the bad guy. Questions flew around the room. Some directed at Daryl, some at Rick, others at no one in particular. He looked at Lori who went from meek and begging to resolute in a second flat as she silently agreed with the road her husband ventured down with his words and then back to the man, himself.

"The hell d'you mean, '_depend on'_ me?! What fer?! Ya'll got yer food! An' even when shit starts runnin' low ya'll got _her! _Got a roof over yer heads. Ain't no walkers in here no more, an' even if there was, ya'll ain't my problem! Plus, ya'll seem to have shit figured out pretty good anyhow. Didn't miss me too much while I was out cold or in there fussin' over that dumb bitch like a mama bird… Ain't nobody dependin' on me fer _shit_."

Upon completing his tirade, Daryl watched Rick's face turn into another disgusted sneer of disbelief. He heard Carol's tiny, injured voice pitched another foul word at him and it sounded just as alien as it had the first time. It sailed easily through the air, thick with tension, and hit him square in the chest. As much as he wanted to turn and lay into her about it, it knocked the wind out of him, too. He tried instead to focus on Rick whatever he looked like he was about to say.

"Alright," he finally relinquished sounding equal parts heartbroken and furious, "You wanna leave? _Fine._ No one's gunna stop you. …But from now on you're a _guest_ here. You treat every member of this group with the respect they deserve; otherwise you'll find yourself out on your ass before you planned. You expect to eat? You pull your own weight… Do what's asked of you and stay out of everyone's way and we won't have any problems. You got that, Daryl?"

"When've I ever not pu—" Daryl challenged, feeling a bit offended by the fact that Rick thought it necessary to set such a rule.

"You _got_ that?!" Rick thundered back. Daryl stiffened at the volume but then rolled his shoulders, brushing Rick's tone off.

"Yeah," he growled quietly in reply as his eyes worked over sets and sets of watching eyes, a different emotion showing in each pair. He spat to the floor, showing his utter contempt for all of them before finishing. "Yeah, I got it."

And with that, he turned and blew past Lori, the woman looking like she'd just swallowed a bug. Eyes huge, mouth pressed into some weird shocked grimace. His shoulder clipped the door painfully as he slammed out into the long, desolate corridor that led back up to the cellblock. His fists, one balled at his side, the other clutching at the strap of his crossbow, shook violently as he strode down the hall. His jaw was clenched so hard he swore he could actually feel the tiny crack in his head moving and shifting, rough edges grinding together and making his brain ache with every throb of his rapid pulse.

_Gunna be a long coupl'a goddamn weeks._


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm so sorry I've kept you all waiting this long. Some how this chapter ended up taking me over a month. I don't know where time went, & I certainly don't know how I managed to get slapped with writer's block this bad. This chapter became PAINFUL to write at one point. It was all in my head, but it just wouldn't come out. So I hope you all understand & know that I honestly do apologize for the wait.**

**I have a few 'thank you's that I need to say. So, bear with me for a moment. **

**To my loyal readers, who have been reading and reviewing all along: I've missed you all, & I'm glad you've hung in there & waited this long for this chapter. You guys make my day with every single review, Fav, & Follow. I just hope some of you have stuck around!**

**To my new readers!: You poor things. You guys started reading this & then a lot of you, apparently, hit this wall just as hard as I have. I'm sorry for doing that to you, & I swear, it's not typical of me. There's more to come! So read, review, & stay tuned!**

**Last & most def not least(& the rest of you guys should be thanking her ass, too!): An insane, crazy, sloppy THANK YOU to the incomparable SimpleWickedWriter for being my personal cheerleader over the last month as I struggled with this chapter. I can't tell you how much your advice & encouragement helped. **

**Also, speaking of this BADASS BITCH, ya'll are DEF missing out if you're not reading her stories, "New Meanings To the Word: Safe", "A Thousand Words", & "New Meanings To the Word: Love". I she & I share a good deal of readers, but SERIOUSLY. IF YOU'RE NOT READING THESE STORIES THAN IDEK, MAN. IDK. So do yourselves a favor & get to that.**

**Okay. So anywhoozle. When we left off last time, Daryl was a month away from leaving our beloved group because Pru had wrongly & selfishly pushed him away. Here, we're skipping ahead a good deal, but once you start reading, I'm sure you'll all be pretty caught up. **

**As always, questions, comments, & reviews are FUCKING LOVINGLY WELCOMED. PLEASEANDTHANKYOU. Hope you all enjoy! Next chapter is...Gunna be very different.**

**-LAUR**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TWD. I ONLY OWN A HANDFUL OF CRAPPY OCs \0/**

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Pink.

And blue. And green.

Blacks, browns, yellows, white. A few faint splotches of purple. Two different reds. One the color of the dye, the other, a few spots where her skin was slow to heal. The infection had rebounded a bit at one point some weeks back, taking advantage of her eagerness to go without bandages or her sling, but after another round of mild antibiotics, the bacteria that tried for so long to bring her down was finally giving up the ghost. Around that sore and angry red, and mostly throughout though, her left bicep was now mostly pink. Pink with healthy, healing skin.

She looked up into the mirror as she slowly unraveled the bandage, peeling back the small patches of gauze padding that lay beneath as she went, exposing more and more fresh, pink, puffy scar tissue.

"I look like a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting." She muttered to herself, a bit of a disgusted smirk at her lips as if trying to ward off every unwanted emotion that was tugging at her with a bit of humor. She wadded up the last bit of dressing and pitched it into a small pail in the corner as she turned a bit to inspect her skin directly. She slowly raised her arm as she ran the tips of the fingers of her opposite hand lightly down the thick ridges, pits, and rough scabs and winced a bit at the gentle pull the movement caused at the new tissue. She turned back up to the mirror and continued to move and flex her still sore arm in small, delicate stretches, getting used to being active again.

She stopped after a bit and huffed, deciding that she'd had enough of standing there like that, so she turned, gathered up her sweatshirt and pulled it back on. The feeling of the material moving over her new skin, little pilled beads of cotton blend catching on the still sore, scabbed over spots made her growl as she finished yanking the hoodie on. When she finished the task of getting her arm in and settled, she shook her head and neck out, blowing off the little prickles of pain that had yanked at the healing bits and zipped herself up. Her arm sagged into its place and she released another relieved sigh through her nose as she looked back up into the mirror, catching the eyes of the person staring back at her.

The rush of air as she breathed in and out through her nose was no longer agonizing, she realized. That had stopped weeks ago. The bright burst of color around her eyes had faded back to her skin's normal porcelain even before that. She pushed gently at the thin bone and pliable cartilage in the center of her face, now a different shape than what she was familiar with. She winced, but only slightly. It still wasn't completely healed, but it was definitely getting there.

Her slender fingers trailed from their place at her nose, over her skin to her cheek and the puffy, pink scar there that matched her arm. She stared at it—that letter etched there—taking in its size and shape and texture. Grazed the pads of her fingers over it.

She felt nothing. There nerves there were dead. She lowered her hand to the metal fixtures on the pedestal sink as she continued to stare at it.

She felt nothing.

_New face, new world._

A new face that she would just have to deal with. Just like she had to deal with this new world. She looked from her cheek back up to her own eyes and stared at herself blankly for a moment before coming to. She blinked and licked her lips, eyebrow cocked in judgment of herself. Huffed again.

Finally dressed and ready for a day of doing what she considered to be basically nothing, she turned to leave the large, private bathroom that was attached to the former office of Deputy Warden Gerald R. Padilla.

"_You know I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd stick a bit closer to the rest of us. There's safety in numbers and if something happened and we all had to get out of here quick…" _

_It was the most he'd said to her in a week, and he'd ended the vague statement with a shake of his head as he watched her drag one thin mattress across the room with her good arm and stack it sloppily atop another. When satisfied with the locale of her new bed, she stood back to full height and brushed her free hand off on her jeans as she turned to look over at him._

"_Well, Rick, I'd feel a whole lot better if the sight of those cells didn't make me want to vomit every time I walked in there," she replied frankly, annoyed that he was still trying to convince her to stay in that horrible fucking room, "It's better if he and I stay away from each other, anyway. Don't ya think?"_

_At that point, Rick had looked up at her with a blank, withdrawn sort of expression that made her want to close her eyes to it. She could tell he was taking this whole thing with Daryl priming himself to leave pretty damn hard. She was trying not to think about it, and for the most part, somehow, she was succeeding in it. _

…_That is until someone would bring it up, which would inevitably happen at least a few times a day. There was one more reason not to stay in that cellblock with everyone else. "Talk to him" had become the three most uttered words amongst the group to her lately._

"_Yeah." He'd agreed quietly then, dipping to grab up another wad of blood-spattered stray papers from the floor. She watched him for a moment as he collected the strewn ream before turning and nudging the mattress towards the wall a bit more with her toe. She cleared her throat._

"…_Besides, Andrea and T were thinking of moving into two of those other offices down the hall… Maybe Michonne… Maybe we're at the point where we can spread out a bit. The place is locked up pretty tight. I don't think there's much sense in not taking advantage of all this space ya've been able to clear out, right?" she mumbled as she moved away from the bed and shuffled to him, bending to help him collect the papers. He paused for a moment, looking off across the room, back in the direction of the bed as if she was still standing there and he was looking at her feet._

"_I'll think about it." He breathed as he stood and made his way out, dirty hands ringing around and crumpling the stained papers into a tight ball. He left her squatting there, blinking at the bit of the mess that was still at her feet as Andrea and Beth walked in behind her with some of her belongings and fresh sheets._

Her eyes were to the grey floor as she moved from the bathroom to the heap of bedding situated in the far corner of the room. She stooped to retrieve her holster from the bed, slinging it onto her unhindered arm, and then wiggling her newly freed but seemingly atrophied arm into the other side awkwardly. She cursed under her breath as she bent this way and that, trying to maneuver her weak muscles into the thing so it could rest upon her shoulders when a voice came from behind her.

"Need help?"

She spun on her heel at the quiet voice, nearly losing her balance, tangled as she was in the leather straps of the gun holster. She managed to widen her stance enough before toppling to the mattress, which in that moment, she was glad to have at her feet. She turned to the direction the voice came from and glared at the blonde who was grinning at her like the cat who caught the canary.

"I'll get it." She snapped back as she straightened. After another couple of seconds of struggling with the thing, she managed to get it on and have it be relatively comfortable. For once, the fact that the thing hung off her frame worked to her advantage, allowing for extra room for her arm to settle into. She turned to Andrea without speaking as she dipped to retrieve her crowbar up off the bed.

"You gunna come down?" Andrea asked as she uncrossed her arms and pulled her back off of where she'd been leaning against the opposite wall. Pru simply shook her head as she began to cross the room towards the door, coat in hand.

"I told ya yesterday. Somebody's gotta be on watch while the rest of ya are…" she trailed off, pulling the door open with the one hand that juggled the crowbar and coat, and motioned vaguely around the room with her other hand in a frustrated fashion, tired of having the same damn conversation over and over and over. She caught Andrea's gaze and held it for a few seconds. She could feel the utter disappointment and sadness there. Unable to take the look for another second, she urged Andrea to take her leave without a word, but with a flick of her hand towards to exit. Andrea rolled her sad eyes and shuffled slowly from the room, allowing Pru to close the door behind her.

She stood there staring at the backwards facing letters that spelled the dead man's name on the other side of the frosted glass pane in the door as the guilt radiated through her. She knew Andrea was just trying to help, but she couldn't help but be annoyed. She'd told her and everyone else that she didn't want to be around for this. She didn't need to be there when he left.

Before she could pull her hand from the door, or pull her mind back from its wandering, there came a knock from the other side of old, oak door. It jolted her back to reality and at once she tore the door open again, ready to verbally rip Andrea a new one for beating that goddamn dead horse.

"WHA—"

Lori stood just beyond the threshold, eyes wide at the volume of the word meant for another. Five or some months into carrying the baby inside her, her painfully thin frame seemed to sag beneath the weight of her ever growing belly. In her slender fingers, she clutched a walkie-talkie, and she blinked over at Pru for a moment with her startled eyes.

"I thought ya were gunna be Andrea coming to harp on me some more." Pru finally sighed, stepping aside to grant Lori access to the room. Lori quietly nodded, smiling tightly as she entered. She was quiet for a moment, as she walked further into the office, her eyes moving about the space taking in the brightness of the room compared to the dull cellblock she'd been sharing with the others down on a lower floor.

"It's nice up here." She said quietly, causing Pru to realize that this was the first time she'd had been up here. Pru nodded as she tucked her crowbar between her legs and set to the arduous task of stretching her depleted arm out over her head enough to wiggle her way into her jacket.

"Yeah," she answered as she began to struggle, "I told Rick a few weeks ago that we should all, or at least some of us, move up here. There's more than enough space."

Lori didn't answer back. The room fell quiet save for Pru's groans of discomfort as she tried to stretch her tight arm forward and up. A second later she felt something tug at the jacket's material from behind, and she turned her head to see Lori standing directly behind her clutching the material.

"Let me help you." She spoke softly. Pru stilled and let her stretched arm go limp, momentarily giving up her need for independence and allowing someone to help her for once. Lori gently placed her arm into the coat and eased it up onto her shoulder before holding out the opposite arm and letting Pru slide it on the rest of the way herself.

"Thanks." Pru said without turning to the other woman.

"Anytime." Lori answered. When Pru finished zipping herself into the warmth of her jacket, she turned to Lori and saw her outstretched hand offering the walkie to her.

"Rick asked me to come up and give this to you. He's just come down from watch." She explained as she handed it over. Pru's brow furrowed as she reached out to take the device.

"He couldn't wait for me to relieve him?" she asked, a bit of an annoyed chuckle making its way past her lips with the words. She clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and then looked back to Lori when an answer didn't come immediately.

"It'll be any minute now." The pregnant woman answered with a shrug and an averted gaze. Pru's eyes rolled to the ceiling and her lids snapped shut over them instantly, realizing that Lori, too, had come up here to hound her as well. She fled the room at a brisk walk into the hallway, lined with offices.

This stretch of corridor was long and only half as dark as the others in the prison. This hallway, which had been found and cleared a few weeks ago while Pru was still healing in the infirmary, had at one time been the prison's administrative wing; home to the offices of the Warden, Deputy Warden, members of the prison's parole board, psychiatrists, doctors, and the like. It was one floor up, through a door off the main corridor of their cellblock. Security here had been minimal. There weren't as many random check point gates along the length of the hall, and the windows, more common here than anywhere else in the building that they'd come across, were only lightly barred with a thick meshing. As Pru made her way towards the flight of stairs at the end of the long line of doors and windows, she heard Lori's feet, moving quickly and echoing off the walls behind her.

"Pru," the other woman called out. She turned, midstride, half-glanced over her shoulder to see Lori was hurriedly scuttling along the faux-marble flooring, one hand to her growing belly. The sight caused Pru to stop, jaw hanging open in mild disbelief.

"Right, Lori. Shake the kid right out of ya before it's done cooking. This is totally worth it." she snapped, turning back around again and continuing down the hall as Lori reached her and fought to keep pace. Shoulder to shoulder, they reached the gate to the stairwell and pushed through it and then on through the heavy doors. Pru took a small flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on to illuminate the dark flight of stairs so they could make their way down to the first floor without incident. Through the heavy darkness and the silence, Pru could feel Lori chancing glances over at her as they made their descent and it was just about making her blood boil in her veins.

When they reached the first floor and the more familiar length of the main corridor, Pru flicked the flashlight back off. Light, though uncommon here, was barely needed anymore to be able to navigate it. All that could be heard echoing through the space was the sound of their boots as they made their way towards the cafeteria. It struck Pru as odd. Usually the sounds of voices ringing through the maze of cave-like rooms were unavoidable. Today, however, other than the noises they were creating themselves, a pin could drop somewhere in the dark space and it would be able to be heard and then located with ease. She knew where everyone was, and she'd have to wade through them to get outside.

She swallowed thickly, trying to choke down the quiet bit of emotion that was threatening to burst from her. And as if Lori sensed that hole—the bit of weakness Pru was working to contain and force back down—she reached out and put her hand to Pru's arm, stilling her purposeful pace just before reaching the doors to the cafeteria.

"Pru," Lori begged quietly, "Don't you think this's gone on long enough? I mean, this is_ it_… He's _leaving_."

"That's fine by me." Pru answered, words short and adamant as she and Lori stood there in the dark before she made a move to turn and continue on into the cafeteria.

"You've gotta stop acting like this. Like a _child_. You need to talk to—"

"Stop! Just stop!" Pru demanded stopping dead in her tracks and turning back to Lori on her heel, "All I told him to do that night was to 'get out', Lori. But to be perfectly honest, if he took that the way he did and decided on his own that he needed to turn tail and run off, then I can't stop him… And neither should _anybody else_."

The last part was accusatory. Pru had seen Lori and other members of the group trying to soothe his ego and reassure him enough to get him to rethink his decision over the past month. But it never worked though. No one ever came back from the rare conversation with Daryl looking like they'd had any amount of success. And for that, Pru was secretly grateful, because she knew she'd never be able to share the same space with him again, as long as he was going to look at her the way he had. Pru glowered at Lori for a silent moment, and watched as Lori shrank back a bit beneath the anger in her eyes. She turned from her again, done with the conversation, done with Lori, and done with Daryl's leaving making her out to be some kind of cruel monster.

She turned to leave, but Lori's hand slipped down and caught onto hers causing, her to spin back again. Lori's eyes darted back and forth between both of Pru's irises for a moment. Her face was barely visible in the dim light of the hall, her form backlit by the cloud filled yet bright morning pouring through the high up cafeteria windows beyond the door at her back. Lori's eyes were wet, searching, pleading, and urging. Her breaths loud and ragged.

"Don't push him away, Pru. _Don't._ You won't be able to take any of this _back." _The pregnant woman implored, squeezing Pru's hand gently as she spoke. Pru's eyes narrowed on Lori's as she tore away from her grasp and she backed up a step, scoffing a bit as she fit the pieces together in her head. For months, even after Rick's stress induced breakdown at the ranger's station, there'd been an odd and very palpable tension between the married couple. They always stuck close to each other and continued to function as a family unit on a very basic level; mother and father to their son, Rick the leader of their group, and Lori the first one to speak up in support of her husband's ideas. They honored and obeyed, but beneath that gossamer veil of solidarity it was very easy to see that Rick and Lori were still very obviously broken. They didn't talk the way they used to back at the Greene farm, all those months ago.

"Ya think that if ya fix us then ya can fix things with Rick? Is that what this is? ...Is that why ya keep pushing this?" Pru asked in disbelief. She watched Lori blink and swallow hard, as if maybe she was just hit with the realization herself. Like she'd pointed something out that rested deep within Lori's subconscious. Lips parted, she let out a shuttering breath as a tear rolled down her cheek, and Lori began to shake her head.

"I keep pushing this because we need to stick together. We're a family… All of us." She said as let Pru's clenched hand fall from her own. With a shake of her head, Pru made to respond. Instead, though, Lori's soft voice interrupted her words.

"What would Dale say," she asked, "…What would your sister say to you right now?"

Pru's heart seized up in her chest and caused her legs to shake and wobbled beneath her frame. Her lower jaw felt like it had come unglued from the rest of her skull by the way her mouth was hanging open. She stared wide-eye at Lori for a moment trying to look more angry than shaken, but it was no use. Tears well and flowed from her eyes faster than she could will herself unfeeling. The sound of the cellblock door's heavy steel frame closing down the hall jolted her, and she blinked once or twice at the feeling of the saline heavy on her lashes, working her fallen jaw and limp tongue to form words.

"They wouldn't say anything, Lori. …They're gone." She breathed as she backed through the cafeteria door. Head down, she fled through the large room as quickly as her shaking legs could carry her, past the group gathered there, out into the wind whipped yard. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure leaning against the deep green body of one of the vehicles parked there. She ignored him and quickened her pace , making her way up into the shelter of the guard tower, fighting to keep the a sob from clawing its way out of her the whole way.

. . .

He rolled the worn canvas between the pads of his thumb and forefinger, staring off absently and pretending like he wasn't avoiding tucking the last of his meager belongings away into the rucksack. He'd wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of this suffocating hellhole for about a month, thinking every day between then and now, that when this morning finally came, he'd be up and out so quick it would make their heads spin. Instead, today, he found himself dragging his feet, trying to postpone the inevitable.

He'd discovered upon waking that the abnormally cold weather that had settled so heavily over the Southern state had gifted them with a rare snowfall. By his count, it must've been at least January now, but the chill that bit into his hide every time he'd exited the confines of the prison told him that it was much colder than any normal winter they'd had in a long time. As he and T-Dog had brought the first of his supplies out to his truck, he found himself hoping that the light flurries would turn a bit heavier, granting him an excuse to put his departure off. Unfortunately though, over the hours he spent wandering aimlessly, slowing collecting his things, the snow had kept its light, steady pace and remained nothing more than a slick and messy dusting. Not anything that would really stop him or slow him down.

He looked up from the canvas bag in his hand and with a heavy sigh, he turned and began gathering up the last few articles of clothing and affects that lay strewn on the mattress beside him. When he was finished, he stood, pulling a now full quiver of arrows onto his shoulder, tucked his Glock into his waistband, and grabbed up the bag he'd just finished packing.

As he turned to leave his cell for the final time, T-Dog came around the corner. Daryl's mind, occupied by everything but his current surroundings was knocked back a half step by the other man's bulk.

"Sorry, man." T-Dog said, reaching out to steady him until the ever surly hunter reflexively brushed his hand away. Realizing what he'd done after the fact, Daryl shot him an apologetic frown and then nodded his thanks up at him.

"This the last of it?" T-Dog asked after a beat. Daryl took a step back and looked over his shoulder, letting his eyes run over every last bit of the now vacant cell.

"Can't wait to get rid of mah ass, can you?" he joked morosely as he turned back to his friend. He looked up to see T-Dog glaring half-heartedly at him, and he couldn't help but answer his expression with a bit of a snort despite the feeling that his chest was about to cave in.

"That ain't even funny, man. Really." He scolded before turning to allow Daryl past him on the narrow walkway. Daryl made his way in front of him and began to walk as T-Dog finished, "Me and Maggie got the rest of that water in the truck. Everything's ready."

Daryl looked back over his shoulder & grunted out a thank you as he came to the top of the stairs. As he descended, he realized he was only hearing one set of boots clanging off the steel steps beneath him. He slowed to a stop and looked back up to the man standing at the top of the flight. T-Dog huffed and cocked a single brow at Daryl's questioning expression. He raised a hand tentatively as he began to descend to meet with the other man on the first landing.

"Listen," he began, "I know you're tired of this, but you know you don't have to do this, right?"

"I know I ain't gotta do it," Daryl replied tersely, "…I wanna."

T-Dog eyed him skeptically, sadly, and silently for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally, turning to continue on down the stairs, making his way past Daryl, "…Alright, then."

Daryl slung the pack over his shoulder next to his quiver and let his hand slide along the strap and rest in that comfortable spot at the center of his chest where he usually clung to his crossbow's band. He sucked in a breath and followed T-Dog down the rest of the stairs. As they pushed into the hallway and closed the cellblock door behind them, they heard hushed voices down the hall. Daryl turned to his left, following the sound with his ears, leading his eyes to it. He caught the sight of the two women arguing just before Pru hissed something at Lori and backed into the next room.

T-Dog stood next to him as he struggled to breathe for a moment. He winced as he listened to Lori try to stifle her crying, knowing full well that more of the same thing awaited him on the other side of those doors. He cleared his throat and began walking towards Lori, who turned once she heard them approaching.

He didn't know what to say or what to do, ever the emotional cripple, so as he drew near he figured the easiest way to deal with all of this would be to just pretend like none of them were there. Pretend he was just walking through the place, just like he had so many times before. Pretend that he wasn't leaving. He reached the door, T-Dog at his back, and put a hand to it and made to push from the hall way into the bright, open room.

"Daryl." She called to him, quietly as he made to pass her. His feet stilled on their own, and despite telling himself not to stop, he found himself turning to face her. The light that poured in through the thick tempered glass of the doors shone over his purposely squared shoulders and lit her face just enough so he could make out the redness that lined her teary eyes. He chewed at the inside of his cheeks and looked to the floor quickly, then back up to her, feeling as if, for some intensely odd reason like he at least owed it to the woman to look her in the eye just then.

"I- I'm sorry. I am." She choked out as she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. He suddenly found himself becoming angry. Not at Lori, however, but at himself for stopping and allowing this ridiculous display of emotion to play out. His expression contorted into a grimace as he shrugged, brushing her off as he turned away from her and T-Dog.

"What fer? Never was yer problem, Lori." he ground out quietly as the door swung shut behind him.

As he walked into the room he could see members of the group scattered among the tables that sat permanently affixed to the floor. With every step he took, his chest drew tighter and tighter. A few of them began to stand, making like they were going to walk over to him; Like they were expecting this to be some big sendoff complete with hugs and well wishes. He eyed them without looking directly at them as he passed through the room.

Their eyes: Andrea's, the kids', Glenn's, Carol's—God, Carol's—all of them pulled at him from their respective spots, causing him to feel as if he was dragging a dead weight behind him. The room seemed wider than it ever had before, stretching out in front of him in taunting as he trudged forward, eyes cast to the floor. He wouldn't—couldn't—look over at them. Looking at Lori just then had been harder than he'd imagined, and he found the woman insufferable half the time. Instead, he pushed on over that vast, grey floor and into the last stretch of black hallway.

As he walked away from the door, he finally allowed himself to breathe again. He was back to being eager to leave this place behind. Nearing the door to the loading dock outside, he tightened his grip on the straps of the bag and quiver slung over his shoulder and picked up his pace. He pushed through the door and exhaled roughly as the cold winter air rushed over his body. The weight in his gut seemed to lift a bit in that instant and he turned to his left to walk down the ramp.

But his legs locked suddenly as he looked up and across the yard to where his truck was parked, full of supplies and waiting for him. Rick stood, arms crossed and back against the driver's side door, waiting for him to disembark, apparently. The keys to the padlock that held the security gate chained closed dangled from Rick's weather-chapped and reddened fingers. Daryl stood there for a moment before dipping his head and continuing forward, down the ramp and to the truck. He stopped in front of Rick and they regarded each other for a silent moment before Rick allowed his arms to fall from their place at his chest and he pushed off the body of the vehicle.

"I'll let you out." He said quietly, the bitterness and anger evident despite the volume of his gravelly voice. Daryl followed his back with his eyes until he had just made it half way to the gate. He suddenly felt compelled to say something to him as he realized that for the second time in a matter of months he'd be losing another brother. He turned in place, shrugging the rucksack from his shoulder and called out quietly to his friend.

"Rick," he hailed the slightest bit of a quaver in the back of his throat. Rick came to a stop, turning his head only a bit to look over his right shoulder. And suddenly Daryl realized he hadn't anything to say. Nothing good or fucking poignant. Words and thoughts escaped him under the expectant sideways glare that had been shot his way. He floundered for a moment before he hoisted the heavy canvas bag back onto his shoulder and found himself uttering the same useless words Lori had just said to him.

"M'sorry."

Rick stood silent for a moment before Daryl watched the man's eyes seemingly glaze over as gave him a curt nod. "Yeah," Rick replied quietly with that acerbic edge still cutting at his words as he turned away and continued on towards the gate, "Me, too."

Daryl's breath rattled from his chest at that and he crossed the last bit of distance over the grey pebbled lot to the door of the truck. For the first time since this all started he was beginning to feel like what everyone had been saying to him over the last few weeks was true. That he was running away, abandoning these people, his friends. But he was in over his head now, he figured. He'd talked this all up to himself and everyone else for so long now that there were no other options.

He pulled the door to the truck's cab open and it pleaded to him with a metallic creak. Tossing the last of his belongings onto the bench seat beside him, he let himself fall heavily into the driver's seat and closed the door behind him. Through the cold, snow covered windows of the cab hear the muffled clink of metal on metal as Rick unlocked and removed the chain from the gate. With a sharp exhale he reached up to the ignition and turned the key, bringing the engine to life.

He flicked on the windshield wipers, letting them free the frosty glass of the light and loosely packed snowfall. Through the glass he could see Rick wheeling the first, heavy gate open and walked to the second. He put the truck in gear and waited with his foot on the brakes. When the second and final security gate was unlocked and opened, Rick pushed it back roughly and began shouting at the three stray walkers that were gathered there on the other side. He hesitated for a moment, about to leap out of the truck and run to assist Rick like he always did, but within a few seconds he'd taken the first two out with his machete and was making for the final one. As Rick drove the blade down through the skull of the last straggler, cleaving its head in two, Daryl began to drive off, out the gate, sparing only a single glance to the rearview mirror and the sight of the lone figure high up in the guard tower. He made his way down the long, pothole laden service road that led from the back of the prison to the road that cut so garishly through the open land that surrounded the prison.

Once on that desolate road, he allowed his foot to fall heavy onto the gas pedal, eager to put as much distance between the prison and himself. It was already past midday. The sun would be setting in a few short hours and he didn't want to be out on the road alone.

. . .

She was fighting a losing battle, really. She didn't know why she was still trying to hold it together. No one was watching. He wasn't there. From her crouched position, back against the closed door of the guard tower, no one could see her there, weeping. She gasped, trying desperately to hold back the last bit of emotion that would send her tears over the edges of her eyes, but it was no use. Upon exhaling the sob she'd been holding onto broke free from her chest with such a force that she felt like what little food she had in her belly may be dragged up right behind it. She slapped her hands tightly over her own mouth as if trying to prevent the sound from making it to her own ears as she slid further down the cold metal.

What Lori had said had knocked the wind from her lungs. Why would she have brought them up other than to try and rip her heart from her chest? She knew just what awaited him outside these walls. The horrors of the world; the monsters, both dead and living. She knew that even though Daryl was better suited to this new world than all of them combined, he wasn't immune to any of the fates that were likely to befall him once he left. She pushed her head back against the door and swallowed another sob as she wiped at her wet eyes.

"Fuck." She groaned as she bumped the back of her head into the door as if to knock some sense into herself. Just then she heard the heavy door the led into the belly of the prison open outside. She stilled and sighed, watching as her hot breath turned to steam in the frigid air that surrounded her. She wiped at her face once more before she pulled herself to up to look out the window and down into the gravel prison yard. Daryl stood there in front of Rick next to the truck for a moment before she watched Rick stalk angrily towards the gate to let him out.

She looked back over just as Daryl ducked into the truck and closed the door behind him. She turned away from the sight in an attempt to focus on why she was actually up there. She walked to other side of the small space and grabbed up the binoculars and placed them to her eyes, sighting over the edge of the forest just beyond the fences and the long road out of the prison as she tried to push the current goings on to the back of her mind. In the fenced in yard, below the tower, the sound of his truck's engine coming to life made it to her ears. She sighed and sniffed out of frustration and scanned the perimeter of the area again.

As her eyes and body set to autopilot, slowly shifting around, watching the undead pace beyond the concrete walls & chain link fencing, her hand fell to rest upon the rifle that was butted up against the desk. The metal was cold and her fingertips almost stung as she absently ran them along the top part of the muzzle and the chill there ran up her hand, into her arm, and throughout her body. She shivered, crossing a single arm over her body, and lifted the binoculars back to her eyes again.

Her thoughts began to meander back a few months to when the air during the day stopped being heavy and humid, when she didn't mind being outdoors for hours upon hours. Before the weather made its annual shift to wintry and cutting; that perfect week or two just before they'd been forced to leave the farm. She quickly remembered waking one morning to a noticeably cooler sky and knowing that with the shift from summer to autumn, the weather would bring with it an unshakable heaviness.

_That morning in the RV._

The memory was clear and easily recalled. Daryl smacking her out of a dead sleep with the ass end of a bolt, the RV, the soft sounds of Dale, Carol, and Andrea asleep at the back. The excuse he'd made for coming in to wake her. The sound of the door closing shut behind her as the cool morning air made contact with her skin.

She lowered the binoculars again and her eyes fell to the desk in front of her as the memory of the RV and her short time spent at the Greene farm collided with thoughts of what Lori had said only a few short moments ago. Those last couple tumultuous days spent there with the group crumbling over the tension wrought by Shane's erratic behavior and by the looming question of what to do about their captive, Randall, with Dale being as outspoken as he was in favor of the kid's reprieve.

_What would Dale say?_

The question left echoing in her mind by Lori's voice summoned up the early evening that they'd all gathered in the parlor to discuss the fate of the boy in the barn. God, the look on Dale's face when no one had sided with him. It was the look of disbelief and disgust once he realized that the group was being ruled by fear and pushed to do unspeakable things because of it. After seeing that he was making no headway in the matter, he'd made to leave the room, but he stopped just before exiting out onto the old, whitewashed porch. He'd stopped and said something to Daryl. Something that caused her to swallow hard upon recollection.

_You're right. This group is broken._

The same heavy feeling that had settled over her chest as she'd stared down into Dale's grave the evening after he'd died welled up again. In that moment, she'd made a promise both to herself and to Dale that she wouldn't let something tear their group apart again, and now she was realizing that she was the reason for the current schism. What was more; she was causing the people who she loved to suffer from heartache. She'd lost both Meredith and Dale because she of her stubbornness. Now she was about to lose Daryl, too.

The rumble of the truck's engine was becoming quieter in her ears as she lifted her visage back to the horizon. As she stood there thinking about everything, Rick had gotten the gate open so that Daryl could be on his way. Her legs began trembling beneath her as she watched the green pickup fly down the beaten access road and turn east onto the county road that ran past the prison. As the vehicle picked up speed and disappeared out of sight, the tears in her eyes began to blur her vision.

"Shit!" she hissed as she whirled around and made for the stairwell. She ran down the steps as quickly as her legs could carry her and threw the door open by slamming into it. She quickly spotted Rick standing across the yard, back to the fence with machete in hand, blackened with soured blood, and staring blankly at the ground a few feet ahead of him. She turned to where her jeep was parked and called out over her should to him as she made for it.

"Rick!" she shouted trying to get his attention, "RICK!"

Her strides shortened and eventually halted as she realized that he was ignoring her. She turned back to look at him and saw that him standing in the same position with the same glacial look on his face. Her feet crunched against the gravel underfoot as she ran back towards him and skidded to a halt at his side.

"RICK!" she cried as she grabbed a hold of his jacket and shook him, trying desperately to get him to look at her, "Rick! Open the gate! I have to go after Daryl! Rick, please!"

He turned to her slowly as his head shook back and forth with the force of her pushing and pulling at him. She finally managed to grab his attention, and as he stared at her his face changed from lost and expressionless, back to angry. He grabbed her by the shoulder and fixed her with a glare.

"This isn't a _game._" He ground out and she found herself losing whatever shred of control she had left over the emotions that were tearing at her. She pulled free from his grip and backed away.

"I know this is my fault! I know it! But I'm gunna go get him! …I can fix this! Just please, give me this keys so I can open the gate, Rick? Please?!" she sobbed as she stumbled back from him. His stony gaze fell from hers after a tense moment and he shook his head almost imperceptibly as he regarded the cold, wet pebbles at their feet.

"I can't let you leave, too. It's too dangerous out there …It's too late, Pru. He's gone." He said weakly, almost apologetically, but with a hint of a stall there, as if he was saying it just wasn't worth it now. Despite the underlying pain she heard in his voice, she felt her blood boil. She howled loud and pained and frustrated as she tore at her now damp curls. Her knees went out from under her, but she managed to clamber back to her feet as she turned around and headed back to her jeep with a loud growl. She tore the door of the jeep open and threw herself inside in one motion. As she turned the keys in the ignition, she screamed out again to Rick.

"Open it, Rick! Or I swear I'll go right through it!"

He stood across the lot from her for a moment, chewing angrily at the inside of his mouth. She revved the V8 engine and the truck lurched a bit threateningly towards the gate.

"Rick!" she screamed once again on a sob, and as she readied to shift into gear and bulldoze through the two gates that held the outside world at bay, Rick finally cracked. He stormed back over to the padlocked gate, opening it and pushing it aside as quickly as he could and then made his way to the second, checking this way and that for any approaching walkers. He turned back and shouted angrily over his shoulder.

"You make this fast," he ordered, "…You find him and you fix this and then you hurry back here!"

He turned back to the fence to throw it open, and without acknowledging him, she floored the gas pedal and tore off, wheels kicking up the tiny stones as she left the prison's yard in pursuit of the man she'd hurt.

. . .

He'd let the hum of the pickup's engine draw him out of his own mind. His actions—the shifting of the manual transmission—were robotic as he kept his unseeing eyes on the long road ahead of him. Somehow he was able to reel himself in and turn his overthinking mind into a blank, emotionless canvas. There was nothing ahead of him, and certainly nothing behind him the last time he checked his mirror.

The quiet sound of the tires droning against the wheels on pavement was suddenly broken by the sharp sounding of a frantic car horn. Daryl's first thought was that the he'd somehow leaned on the horn without realizing it, but as it continued, he looked up into his rearview and saw a pair of fast approaching headlights behind him. His hand immediately went to the gun that had been stashed at his waist until a few moments ago. He picked it up off the bench seat next to where he sat and readied himself for what was to come next.

"What the fuck." He breathed as he watched the vehicle behind him pick up speed, going from a breakneck to a downright dangerous pace on the winter-slick road and veer around to his left. He raised his gun in anticipation of first shot when his eye caught the color of the beastly vehicle that flanked him. The tan body of the jeep along with its height from its lift was unmistakable. He found himself lowering his weapon even before he saw who was driving the damn thing.

"Goddammit" he growled to himself as he stowed the gun and pushed the truck harder in order to pull away from the jeep. He chanced a glace over to his left despite his mind telling him not to, and saw her waving wildly at him to pull off to the side of the road. His guts knotted and grit his teeth against the feeling, turning his eyes back to the road, and hoping that she'd eventually tire of dogging him once he got a bit farther out.

They continued on like that for a good distance. He could hear her screeching his name through the rolled up windows of the cab and over the dual motors of both trucks. Just as he was about to acknowledge her presence by shouting at her through the driver's side window, she finally relented and began to fall back behind him. He watched through the corner of his eye as the massive jeep shrank back over his shoulder and eventually pulled back behind him. His nerves began to settle as the lights grew smaller and smaller in his mirror, and he felt his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel begin to loosen.

Just as he exhaled, relieved that she'd given up the chase and he wouldn't have to face her, the roar of the jeep's powerful engine began to grow louder again. He was about to look back up at the mirror that hung from the center of the windshield when he felt the impact.

_THUD_

"Shit!" he cried out as the pickup jolted forward. He held fast to the wheel and managed to keep it from spinning out of control despite the way the wet road tugged at the tires. She pulled up next to him again, and this time he couldn't fight the urge to shout at her. He rolled the wet window down and leaned out of it, flicking his eyes from the road ahead to the woman that was driving like a homicidal maniac alongside him.

"You out yer goddamn mind!?" he yelled at her as he fought to keep the truck steady.

"Pull over, Daryl!" she demanded. There was no way in hell he was about to do that, though. Especially not after what she'd just done. He snarled again and turned away from her, flooring the gas pedal once again in effort to get away from her.

The sound of metal on metal was the next thing he heard as she turned the wheel just enough to push gently into the side of his truck. He turned the wheel, fighting the weight of the other car, but tires, meant for off-roading on Pru's jeep found purchase much easier on the wet asphalt. As the truck began to bounce over the soggy mess that was the grass and refuse lined roadside, he decided it was time to give this up before one of them ended up dead. As he went to slam on the brakes, he felt and heard something beneath him snap and grind, and he skidded to a stop on the uneven turf as her vehicle scraped loudly past him and came to rest ahead of him.

He sat there in his truck stunned into silence for the better half of a minuet before he thought to worry about her or himself. For a second as his spinning head came back down to earth, he made to get out and run to her to make sure she was alright, but as soon as he saw her door pop open and watched her climb out onto steady feet, that bit of worry was swept away by rage again.

He threw himself against the door only to find that it was smashed just enough to seal him inside. After slamming against it twice to no avail, he grabbed his gun off the seat and began pulling himself out the window, slinging profanities into the open winter atmosphere as he did it. Just as his feet touched the ground, he saw Pru, looking teary-eyed, shaken, and a bit disheveled making her way over to him.

"You tryin' to get us both killed?! Huh?! Wasn't enough I was leavin'?" he shouted at her as he got his bearings, steadying himself on the hood of the car.

"Ya were running off to die alone like some sick fucking animal! What's it matter if ya die now or later?" she challenged as she stormed up to him and pushed him hard against the body of the truck. She'd done it once before, taken her frustration out on him with a good shove or two, but this time he wasn't gunna stand there and let it happen. He tore himself away and grabbed her by her wrist.

"Don't." he growled dangerously as he shoved her arm down and away. She stilled at that and stared up at him for an impossibly long moment as they both panted hot puffs of anger into the freezing air. He watched her back towards the truck and lean against its wet side.

"Ya can't leave." She said quietly. He wanted to laugh in her face. Was that a request? A demand?

"Yer damn right I can't leave! The goddamn axel snapped just now thanks to yer crazy ass! …I should take yer fuckin' jeep an' leave you out here fer what you jus' went an' done!" he shouted in her face as he paced back and forth in front of her like a wild animal.

"Will ya shut up before ya call every fucking walker within a mile over here!" she hissed at him angrily.

"They already heard this whole mess!" he yelled, a hand wildly at the wrecked truck and then turning to reach into the cab of the truck. Through the window he'd just climbed out of, he grabbed for his crossbow, his quiver, and his pack, slinging what he could onto his shoulders as he pulled back out. Screw the rest of the supplies, at this point. He could find another truck later and come back for them later if no other survivors picked the damn thing over. He fixed Pru with a final look before turning to walk off to the opposite side of the road, into an open field.

"What are ya doing?!" she shouted after him, but he continued to walk away towards the field without a word, "Daryl! Daryl, stop it! I'm trying to tell ya that I'm sorry!"

He heard her breath hitch as she began to cry and he fought with himself, half of him breaking at the sound, the other half growing even more irate over how she was carrying on. Too little, too late.

"You got a hell of a way of showin' it." He scoffed as his feet fell to the snow dusted grass at the road's edge. He listened as she came up behind him quickly and felt her grab onto his arm. He wheeled around and glared daggers at her.

"Ya want me to beg ya, I will…Don't stay because I'm asking ya to. Stay for yaself." She pleaded to him as she hung onto his arm. He tried to pull away but she clutched tightly, desperately onto his jacket. He shook his head and glared angrily at the ground for a moment, trying to work the words over in his head.

"I _wanted_ to stay fer you. This whole damn time. You had a month's worth of chances to pull yer head out yer ass…Now all'asudden yer _sorry_?" he asked incredulously as he gave his arm a second, more violent shake in an attempt to shrug her off, "Maybe I'm just too thick-headed to understand what the hell happened, but I'm pretty goddamn sure I didn't do a goddamn thing to warrant you actin' the way you been."

He stopped and locked his angry eyes onto her reddened ones as he felt a bit of the heavy press on his chest lift away. For a brief moment, he was reveling in how absolutely amazing it felt to call her out on what had happened. Her mouth bowed and contorted as she cried silently and tried to form the words that would make up her explanation.

"Ya didn't do anything… I just- I thought…" she struggled. He heard her swallow heavily as she wiped frantically at her wet cheeks.

"You thought _what_?" he dared, voice telling of how tired he was growing of standing there out in the cold, watching this woman try to pull herself out of the whole she'd dug. She wiped at her cold, red cheeks once more before sucking in a huge breath in effort to calm herself.

"When I woke up," she began, the tears rising up an threatening to spillover her lids again, "there was this one point where I looked at ya, and ya looked… So exhausted and so _sad… _But the way ya looked at me; it was like ya felt sorry for me. And there was something in my head that told me that no matter what happened, no matter how much these scars I have now faded… Every time ya'd look at me from now on, ya we're gunna think about what happened and feel bad for me. Pity me. I don't need to look at ya every day and be reminded of what happened to me. I was angry and afraid that I was gunna just have to live with the thoughts of what happened, and see it again every time I looked at ya."

She finished and the open field around them grew silent save for the icy wind whipping snow flurries around them. His face contorted as he took in her disjointed, rambling words, spilling out of her mouth raw and maladroit. He could vaguely grasp what she was trying to explain to him, but still, it wasn't an excuse for all the grief she'd caused him. He was about to open his mouth to come back at her with whatever was in his head when his keen ears picked up the sound of something tromping clumsily through the trees and dead underbrush just beyond the cars.

"Shut up," He warned as he grabbed her by her newly healed arm and pulled her around behind himself to face the woods. They both stilled and listened quietly for the sounds grow nearer. There was more than one pair of feet shuffling through the brittle branches and fallen leaves.

"Git in the jeep." He whispered to her as he pulled his knife. She turned to him for a fraction of a second before pulling one of her guns from her holster.

"I'm not going without you." She snapped back at him quietly. Just as she finished her sentence, a pallid grey corpse wrapped in dirty, ragged jacket and slacks came into view. It stopped just short of the lip of the brush covered slope before spotting them and clumsily sliding down net to the pickup's front bumper, gnashing its blackened, rotting teeth all the way. Daryl walked forward, low and ready to strike. As he reached the approaching threat and grabbed it by what was left of the corpse's Sunday Best, the woods seemed to vomit forth another large handful of shambling bodies.

The sound of his blade piercing the temple of the first walker was drowned out by the discharge of Pru's gun. He withdrew his knife and turned around with the walker's body still in his grasp and used it as a shield as the next two walkers bore down on him. He kicked the body of the first forward as its back made contact with the chests of the next two and the force sent all three bodies tumbling gracelessly to the ground. He went to back away and realized quickly that all the noise from the wreck and their shouting really must have attracted every walker for a mile. They were quickly becoming overrun, and with Pru using that gun of hers, more were sure to be on their way.

"Pru, git in the jeep!" he shouted again as he stabbed at the next approaching walker. He listened to her pop off two more rounds before he went to move around to the other side of the jeep and his heart stilled with each. When he went to move from the front of the wrecked truck's bumper to the passenger side of the jeep, he was blocked by three more walkers. They were more recently deceased, and not as sluggish and putrid as the first walker was. They lunged and grabbed for him and he was forced to back away from the only other way into the jeep.

"Daryl!" Pru yelped as she let fly another shot. The sound of mucky, black blood splattering against his back and the meager belongings he had stowed there made him falter for half a second. They were surrounded now, or at least he was, in the tight space between the two vehicles. To his relief, a second later he heard the door to the jeep slam shut, but he still needed a way out. With the passenger side completely blocked by the press of the dead, and the small gap between him and the very temporary safety of the pickup's cab, there was only one option left for escape. His back to the rear of the jeep, he put his heel to the bumped and hoisted himself up onto the spare tire as he heard Pru's frantic and muffled screams coming from the inside of the jeep.

As he pulled his upper body up onto the ragtop roof, one booted foot slipped off the wet rubber of the tire and was grabbed hold of by one of the reaching hands. He panted and kicked out frantically, trying hard to free himself, but with a second, more vehement yank he became aware of a second pair or hands on his foot, and the very short amount of time he had to free himself before his calf muscle ended up in the jaws of one of those dead bastards. With barely another thought, he did the only thing he could think of. He sank his knife into the soft canvas roof in the space between the back and front roll bars in one fluid motion. Weakened by the cut and the stress of his weight, the fabric of the soft top tore away and he let out a yelp as he fell backwards, down into the cramped back seat. Gravity having torn his leg from the walkers' grasp with a force he wouldn't have been able to produce on his own, he let out a relieved gasp for air as he scrambled to right himself.

"Are you alright?!" Pru screeched. He could hear the nails of the dead scratching at the plastic windows and the canvas roof, searching for a way to get to the meal hidden within. He turned his head to look at her from his uncomfortable inverted position and was met by worried and frantic eyes.

"DRIVE!" he shouted at her. A fraction of a second later, as she seemingly remembered what the hell was happening on the other side of those thin windows, and she popped the clutch into gear, sending the tires into a burnout. The engine growled as the jeep flew into reverse, and Daryl could hear the bodies of the dead being mowed down by the body of the jeep. A sudden jolt rocked the whole vehicle as Pru rammed into the front of Daryl's truck, crushing the last couple of walkers in between the two bumpers, and Daryl growled string of profanity that was unintelligible, even to him, as his crossbow was ground into his back beneath him.

"Hang on!" Pru shouted as she shifted again and punched the gas to the floor with her foot. The lifted body tipped as she made a hard left back into the middle of the road, and as it rocked back over, Daryl found the bit of momentum helpful in pulling himself out of the cramped space between the back seat and the front.

A good ten minutes passed tensely as they both breathed heavily, and tried like hell to get their heart rates back down to a normal pattern. He shucked the crossbow, quiver, and bag from his back and flopped limply against the seatback.

"Did they get ya?" she asked finally, looking at him through the rearview. He didn't answer for a moment as thoughts of why all of that shit had just happened floated back to the surface. He looked back up to her and cocked an eyebrow.

"Mah brain'd already be leakin' out the back'a mah head if they got me." He bit out as he sat up straighter. He watched her shamefully peel her eyes away from him through the rearview as he continued to catch his breath. The pain in her expression as she stared out the window, streaked with bloody handprints, was enough to make him regret the way he'd snapped at her before.

She'd risked her ass to come after him. She was sorry and he knew it. She wouldn't say something like that if she didn't meant it. But while he understood what would make her withdraw from him, had he actually felt the way she'd assumed, he was so intensely confused by what she'd said to him. How in the hell could she have come to that conclusion—that he 'pitied' her—that night, weeks ago? _Did_ he pity her? Was there a possibility that he didn't even realize it? He almost shook his head as he mulled it over.

_Hello no._

Sure, he felt bad for her on a physical level. Pain-wise, the girl had been through the ringer. But mentally—_Good Lord_—had the same thing happened to anyone else, he was sure no one else would have been able to come out of it and still be able to function. He didn't pity her. He was proud of her for being able to pick her ass up and keep moving.

She needed to hear it. And she needed to hear that he cared about her and that he didn't really want to leave.

He looked up at the torn cloth above him as it flapped in the cold wind and allowed the tiny bits of frozen water to drift into the interior and then back to the woman behind the wheel. He looked down to his feet, to the floor beneath the driver's seat where his knife had fallen after his crash landing. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward to reach for it and paused for a second as his face was just behind her.

"Yanno after Amy died Andrea tried to off 'erself, right?" He asked just loudly enough to be heard over the rush of the wind as his fingers closed around the hilt of his knife. He drew back from her and watched as the reflection of her face flashed back to meet his eyes again. He sat up and sheathed his knife, keeping eye contact with her for a long silent moment despite being jostled back and forth by the movement of the vehicle.

"An' you 'member when Beth just… I dunno, jus' clammed up for a few days? When we were still at the farm? An' then she tried to do 'erself in, too?"

"Yeah. I remember." She said quietly as her eyes moved back to the mirror and again back to the road again. He paused and looked back to the huge tear in the ceiling.

"…Neither a'them been through half the shit you been through, an' yer still here. Yer still fightin'," he said to her after a moment. His expression changed on its own suddenly. Lips quirked into a smirk, he continued, "Yer ass woke up that night, an' the first thing you did was pick a fight with me."

Upon hearing her stifle a bit of a choked chuckle, he looked back to the reflection again and saw her wetted, smiling eyes as they scanned the desolate road ahead. His small, crooked grin faded quickly and his air turned serious and sincere and he shrugged, not really knowing if anything he was trying to say was making sense.

"Can't pity someone you admire." He said quietly, hoping like hell that his words sounded better out loud than they did in his head. With that Pru let out a small, shuddering sob and reached into the back seat. After a second of searching around with her hand, to his surprise, she grabbed ahold of his and pulled him forward so his chest was up against the back of the seat and tucked his arm around her waist.

"Stay. Please." She whispered without turning to him. He leaned forward a bit more and rested his chin on his shoulder as all the fear, anger, and uncertainty he'd been burdened with for over a month lifted off his.

"Yeah." He breathed into her neck.

A moment later, he felt her breath hitch and heard he sniffle a bit. Confused by her tear soaked face, he leaned forward between the two front seats about to ask her what was wrong, when she turned to him. As the tears rolled down her face, she let out an odd laughing sob.

"Ya ruined my roof." She said as she smiled and cried. He couldn't help the smiled that tugged at the corners of his mouth at the look on her face. He tightened his grip on her waist as she turned her eyes back to the prison that lay ahead in the distance.

"Yeah, well. You ruin'd mah whole fuckin' truck."


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, I'm a horrible person. When I don't have severe writer's block anymore, I'm like "NO, MOM I DON'T WANNA WRITE". So yeah, I'm just awful.**

**BUT. Here is the next chapter and I did something VERY, VERY different with it. I've had it planned out for a long while, but the words weren't coming. Concept was there, but not much else. So 60% of this chapter was written TODAY. In the last HOUR.**

**I hope it doesn't disappoint you guys. I know there's no Daryl OR Pru in it, but... There's someone else =)**

**Thank you so much, everyone who's been hanging in there with this story. You don't know how much your patience means to me. Welcome and THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU to all my new readers and reviewers, too. I hope I manage to keep you guys around, haha.**

**After this... I'm thinking you may love this next chapter I have coming up. I'll never tell what's gonna happen though.**

**LOVE TO ALL!**  
**-Laur**

* * *

"…Alright. Get back out there, then. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious… They're probably either dead or miles away by now, but I'm not taking any chances."

"I don' think them girls fool enough to come back 'round only after just escapin' last night."

Merle watched at the Governor, on his way to the far end of his catalogue-perfect living room, stilled his too relaxed amble abruptly and slowly turned to the men at his back. A smile spread across his face as he hooked his thumb into his belt loop and strode back. When he came to stand again at the table where Merle and Deacon sat, he grabbed the back of one of the rustic wooden chairs and casually leaned his weight onto his arm as he turned to the picture window overlooking Main Street.

"Deacon," he smiled as he turned back to his burly henchman, "The moment I start letting you do the thinking around here, is the moment I willingly stick my hand in the mouth of a biter, you simpleminded _fuck_!"

He punctuated the sentence by roughly sweeping the chair back and throwing it to the floor behind him. Merle stiffened a bit, but didn't otherwise react. He just kept his eyes to the soft finish of the wood in front of him. He heard Deacon suck at his teeth and lean back, tipping his chair on its back legs defiantly. No one said a thing for a moment as the Governor leaned over the table, glaring daggers at both of his men until Deacon reluctantly looked over to his superior and righted the chair without a contrary word. At that, the Governor relented, straightening back to his full height and as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration, Merle brought his eyes back to his superior before he bent to right the chair and tuck it neatly back into its place at the table.

"Now if those girls are as good at getting out of a bind as they've proven, I'd like to not take any chances. Do you understand me? Because the safety of this town and our people are at stake. They're armed. They're _angry_. Injured, or not, I wouldn't put it past them to wanna seek a bit of vengeance for what you animals did to 'em."

At that, Deacon scoffed as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and rub at the side of his head with his uninjured hand. Slowly he turned back to where the Governor stood with a smirk at his lips and a furrowed brow.

"Animals, huh? You know, I coulda sworn I heard you say 'anythin' goes as long as we kept them on a short leash' when we brought them girls in here the other night." He challenged. The Governor paused for a moment, and then nodded a bit, pursing his lips before looking back up to where Deacon sat.

"You're right, Deacon. I did say 'anything goes'," He continued to nod as he pulled the chair back out for himself slowly, "…But I also to you to put your goddamn toys away when you were _done_. You were in charge while Merle and I were gone, Deacon…You were supposed to hold down the fort and keep the people that call this place home safe. Those women got out…They killed people for Christ's sakes!"

He ended on a biting, angry note as he sat heavily into the seat. It was plain to see that he was growing weary of arguing with his underling. He locked eyes with Deacon again to force him down, deep and back into submission. After a long, tense moment Deacon seemed to realize that he was going head to head with the man who ran this small stronghold. He slowly averted his eyes down to the floor beneath the table.

The Governor uncoiled visibly once he was sure Deacon's willfulness was back in check. He wiped his clean shaven cheek with his palm and sank back into the well-loved dining room chair. The room fell silent and the tension in the room could be cut with a knife despite the Governor having put his foot down. Merle, long silent, had sat between the two looking on with a tired, annoyed expression the entire time.

Shit like this made him anxious; arguments he wasn't involved in but played audience to. They'd always made him feel uneasy. Like he had no control of the situation. He ran his only hand along his jean clad thigh, wiping off the bit of sweat that was forming in his palm. As he sucked on his teeth, he looked back over to the younger man at his right and then back to the Governor. Their eyes connected for a short second before those that were glaring back at him were ripped away with a disgusted headshake.

"I need this mess dealt with… Cleaned up." The Governor finally said as he looked back to Merle, "I want one of you to go check on Lynne. Her husband just survived this whole mess only to be killed by some lunatics. Let's be thankful Ross didn't have any family left…I want Lynne to know she'll be taken care of."

"Yes sir." Merle replied as he shifted his weight to stand.

"I'm not finished." The Governor snapped as he shifted around slowly to look at Merle. Merle stiffened where he stood, gritting his teeth a bit, but he managed to swallow down his annoyance enough to sit back down into his chair.

"Eli…" the Governor uttered under his breath. The low volume did nothing to prevent the name from reaching his ears. Instantly, the image of the man's undead body—hole the size of a grapefruit from the assault rifle's blast in its chest—chained and lunging in one of the darkened warehouse rooms came to mind. He knew from square one the man was stupid. 'Educated' people always tended to be. Too concerned with thinking things through, weighing out every damn option, making sure everyone else was caught up and on the same page to recognize when their own ass was about to end up in a world of hurt. He sneered at the thought and the feel of the blade attached to his arm sliding from the skull.

"…Do you hear me?!"

The shout pulled Merle back out of his mind and into the room. He shook his head and rubbed at his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, I hear you." He lied automatically as he straightened again.

"He already sent 'em over there. Said there's almost nothin' left." Deacon said as he nudged at Merle's capped arm. It was then he realized what the Governor was talking about. Eli had been the one man in town with more than basic first aid experience. All the medical supplies were kept in his care. Unfortunately, over the months of picking up new survivors and caring for their own injuries, the supply stock was beginning to dwindle. Merle nodded and looked back over to the Governor, who was visibly seething.

"Eli was an idiot. I wonder when he was plannin' on lettin' us know we were just 'bout out of the basics… We're better off." Merle nodded to himself.

"Better off?" the Governor glared, "Tell me next time you lose a limb how much 'better off' we are without him!"

Merle looked up and caught the dangerous glare fired in his direction. He nodded, feeling slightly cowed, but his own defiant streak rose up to the surface in that moment. He stood, tired of the lecture and the tension on the room, and nodded again.

_"If I end up losing another limb, I hope one'a ya'll will be kind enough to feed me a bullet."_

"Weather's 'bout to take a turn," he began, low gravely voice scratching its way out his mouth and around the otherwise silent room,"…What's left in our stock pile'll get us through a couple more bad injuries, maybe. Enough medicine and sutures to get us through the worst of the winter. We been out enough within the last couple weeks. I say we hold tight til winter's done an' over with… Head out in the spring when people start goin' outside, doin' stupid shit again."

The Governor turned towards the grey light that shone through the apartment's window and slowly walked over towards it as he silently considered Merle's proposal. He picked up a picture frame that sat atop the small, antique table.

"All the hospitals in the area have been cleaned out. Where exactly were you planning on searching for medical supplies 'come spring'?" the Governor huffed, setting down the picture as he turned back to the other two men seated at the table.

"I got a place in mind… Probably gunna need a whole heap'a muscle and ammo if we wanna get in, though. Willing to bet my good arm the place is overrun still. But it should be worth it. There'll be more food an' weapons inside than we'll know what to do with." Merle hinted with a bit of a confident smile. The Governor, seemingly unimpressed with his playful attitude pressed further with only a look as he bent forward to rest his palms flat on the opposite side of the table. Merle's smile slowly faded and he rolled his neck before turning back to his still seated cohort.

"Where you said you was locked up before all this, again, Deacon?"


	14. Chapter 14

Holy shit. Am I actually about to post the next chapter? GOOD LORD.

I've missed this. I've missed **YOU** guys. I've been so fucking busy with work and real life crap that this story ended up getting relegated to the back burner. I DIDN'T MEAN TO DO IT. HONEST.

So, did you guys enjoy the rest of Season 3? If anyone wants to bullshit about that, I am ALL EARS!... Just as long as you're willing to hear me bullshit loads, too. Because, lemme tell you, I have LOADS to bullshit about.

Anyway, THERE'S A STORY HERE THAT NEEDS TALKED ABOUT, RIGHT?! Did you guys enjoy Pru & Daryl getting back together? I bet you did. And that chapter had an awesome little happy ending, didn't it?

Well. Hope you had your fill of happy stuff...Because this here is universe in THE WALKING DEAD, and as we all know, the second anyone smiles, death & dismemberment is NOT far behind.

COUPLE THINGS BEFORE WE PRESS ON!: THIS CHAPTER HAS VAGUE MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE TOWARDS WOMEN. So if ya'll don't like that stuff you may wanna skip this or... Idunno. I don't know how you ended up this far in the story at this point. D=

'Nother thing: I'd like to say hellooooooooooooooooo to everyone who's favorite, reviewed, or followed this story over the last two months. I'm really sorry I've been neglecting this and you guys, but I may be getting a bit more time to write, again.

So here goes nothin'! Hope you guys enjoy! Love!

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything pertaining to The Walking Dead. This is just crappy fanfic.**

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He'd missed the birdsong, as colorful to his ears as spring was, visually. At some point in the last few weeks—god, maybe it had been months by now—they'd experienced a winter warm spell. It had been short-lived, but so very welcome. A day to get out into the surrounding forest and _explore. _To _hunt_. To _live_. After that, though, winter had never fully regained its grip on the Georgia countryside, and as the days cycled back, longer and brighter, the chill in the air slowly ebbed away and became a memory. And as it had always tended to do, the springtime seemed to evaporate away just as quickly with the fast approaching heat of summer. The long, difficult winter—the first winter—was behind them and long gone.

And, hell. If they'd made it through this one with all the bullshit and hardships and the fighting, whole, alive, and _safe_, he was confident in the thought that they'd be able to make it on through the coming months, and the summer, as long as they kept their wits about them. 'Optimistic' had never been a word he'd have used to describe himself, even in the best of times, but as he pushed aside the young leaves on the branch of the River Birch before him, he felt that maybe, just this once, if someone asked him how he felt on the matter, that'd be the word for it. Optimistic.

A sharp whistle broke the lively silence around them and he found himself turning to meet her as he lowered his crossbow. A few paces back, he saw the two figures moving through the bunched and huddled trees that left barely enough room for a grown man to negotiate through. He sighed and spit to the forest floor, effectively communicating his, albeit slight, frustration.

"C'mon now. Keep up." He admonished, though admittedly, the kid had been doing way better than his father ever had on their few trips out into the forest in search of food. Carl was becoming quiet, patient, and fuck if he hadn't ended up a crack shot with a pistol and a slingshot. He was even getting plenty capable of workin' his way around a rifle. The only downside Daryl could point out to taking the kid out with them was that, despite growing like a damn weed over the last couple months, his legs still weren't anywhere near as long as a full grown adult's, and because of that, Daryl found himself slowing and stopping to let him and Pru play catch up a lot more than he wanted to be.

It wasn't terrible, though he, nor Pru for that matter, never signed up for the task of keeping an eye on the kid. It just ended up falling on them, more by the kid's choice, seemingly, than anyone asking. With Rick and Lori almost constantly at odds, the kid seemed more and more willing to take himself out of the situation completely, unwilling to stick around his brooding father, or his almost perpetually crying, very pregnant mother. So as long as the kid kept his mouth shut and paid attention to what was going on around him, Daryl was willing to put up with it. For the time being, anyway.  
Pru came around a tree just behind Carl, eyebrow quirked and just about ready to smart-mouth back at him. He worked real hard to suppress the sly grin that wanted to pull at his lips as he turned back to his intended path.

"Wasn't talkin' to you." He muttered, pushing off the tree with his bare shoulder. He heard Carl's footfalls atop the leaves and dirt stop for a beat and he turned back to watch Pru place a reassuring hand to the boy's shoulder as he drew in a long, deep breath and glared at the canopy.

"Remind me who got the last three squirrels?" Pru whispered, almost inaudibly as she nudged the kid forward again. Carl's expression softened and his eyes floated back down through the tree limbs and smugly hit off Daryl's as he pushed past him and forward, through the bush. Despite the fact that she was right, and he was actually pretty proud of the kid, Daryl couldn't help but let out a bit of an irritated scoff at the jab as Pru approached him. Scanning the surrounding area with her smiling eyes, she tapped at his hip with one of her arrows as she made her way past him, in step behind Carl.

After everything that had happened over the winter months had blown over and he and Pru had cleared the air between them and patched up the fraying ties that had been just barely holding the strained group together, the cards all slowly seemed to fall into place. The group once again, became tightknit, and functioned as a whole. They'd all taken steps to make their prison sanctuary more than just a dank catacomb fortress. It had somehow grown brighter, less somber. And for the first time in his life, Daryl had actually started to feel like he was where he was supposed to be.

Rick, however, and very understandably, had taken longer than the rest of the survivors to even remotely settle back into regular communication with both he and Pru. Daryl didn't blame him. Couldn't. He wouldn't be able to rely on people who squabbled like children, either. But slowly, tentatively, Rick seemed to ease back into what Pru often pointed out to be a 'tight' relationship. Despite that though, Daryl still felt that Rick was more distant and guarded. Not just toward him or Pru, but in general. It was the way he was with the entire group. Even with his own family, with Lori seeming to be the one he'd drifted from most.

He'd neither press nor pry, though. It wasn't his business, and he never had been of the mind to ask someone what was on their mind. But in the back of his head, somewhere, he knew that he and Rick relied upon each other much more than either of them could ever admit or even realize. They trusted each other with their lives. With the lives of the people most dear to them. It had been Rick who had suggested Carl learn how to hunt from Pru and Daryl, in case something happened down the line. He said he '_knew Carl was in good hands'_.

"C'mon. Keep up." Carl parroted smartly, once he was a good few paces ahead of the huntsman. The jocund remark and the grin shot over the boy's shoulder pulled Daryl from his own head and set his feet back to their normal pace.

"Watch it, kid. Dunno who yer dealin' with." He growled quietly, though there was no real fight to his intonation as moved to catch up with the other two ahead of him.

**. . .**

The sun had climbed high into the sky and had begun its descent again before they were through for the day. The hunting party broke through the tree line on the eastern side of the prison facing one of the many still overrun yards. The bumbling and aimless walkers in prison jumpsuits and riot gear reminded Daryl that despite the months they'd spent in the prison now, they still had made no effort to explore or clear the rest of the prison. Instead, they'd spent the colder months quietly scouting the areas surrounding their fortress and attempting to stock up on supplies and preparing for another potential run in with other survivors. Knowing how to defend themselves and one another became the paramount objective. Everyone had made runs, save for the now very pregnant Lori. Even the kids; Carl, Beth, and Chris. They'd all hardened to the world in those grey days—everyone—a fact that both unnerved him and made him more confident. And while the task of dispatching the remaining dead that lurked in the unexplored depths of the other cellblocks seemed unnecessary and dangerous, any time he made a trip out into their own yard and heard the sound of the dead rise over that high cinderblock wall, it set his teeth on edge and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. They'd killed so many of them _out there, _and yet they were still living with the walkers that literally inhabited their backyard.

With a grunt, Daryl squinted to shield his eyes against the setting sun as he took stock of the area and made sure it was safe for Pru and Carl to climb down the embankment towards the fencing. He spotted a lone walker in the direction they were to head and took it out easily and silently as Pru helped Carl slide down the slope.

"Ya did good, today, Bud." He heard her say to the kid as she helped him up and passed his full pack back to him, "Seven squirrels and a snake… I think that's a new record for ya."  
"Yeah, an' don'chu be tellin' yer mom 'bout how you got that Gapper, neither," he warned Carl as he slid down the loose, red dirt on the embankment on careful feet. Carl smiled and nodded up at him before turning towards the fencing and making his way along it in front of the two adults. As they walked together behind the boy, they watched in silence as he sidled up to the corner and raised his gun, stealthily peeking around the corner to check for any oncoming walkers. After a second, the young teen turned back to them, straight-faced and nodded to them signaling the all clear.

"He's gotten good," Pru allowed quietly as the watched Carl disappear beyond the wall in front of them. Daryl nodded his agreement and felt her grab at his wrist in an effort to slow him down and turn him towards her, "…And you've gotten good at being patient with him."

He turned to face her but didn't stop walking as he scoffed out a bit of a laugh. Tugging back on his wrist, she pulled him to herself and smiled up at him. The smile was wide and contagious and after a quick look around the area to make sure they weren't in any immediate danger and that the kid was well out of sight, he took the bait and went in for a long, deep kiss. Slowly she broke away from his still hungry lips and pushed softly against his chest, giving that same coy smile from before.

"What's all this?" he queried, voice throaty and rough, as he tried to pull her back to him. She shrugged as she slid out of his grip, no doubt wanting to catch up to Carl, unwilling to let him go too long without being in her sight.

"Idunno," she smiled before turning to follow Carl to their regular entrance around the corner as she gestured at the greenery and the clear blue sky above, "It's springtime. Birds and the bees, I guess."

He smiled lopsidedly at her back, and for a second, the dull roar of the walkers penned just a few feet to his left dwindled to barely a hum. He clutched the strap of his crossbow and quickly fell into step behind her just before she reached the corner of the cement wall.

When he looked up past the back of Pru's head, a long way down the grey wall, by the entrance gate from which they came in and out, he could see Carl ducked down, gun drawn, and seemingly trying to get a glimpse at who was in the guard tower just above him. Something was wrong. Without a word, Daryl drew his bow and pulled Pru down into a squat in front of him.

"Carl!" Pru hissed quietly to get the boy's attention, but he didn't turn to meet their eyes. He turned back to the yard and kept low against the wall. Daryl shushed Pru and moved around her so he could lead her towards the gates and Carl. As they moved along, backs pressed to the cool stone wall, Daryl tried to look up into the guard tower like Carl had been. From that angle though, it was impossible to see if anyone was up there.

"What's going on?!" he asked Carl once they reached him. The kid spooked a bit at the sound of his low voice and when he turned back to answer him, Carl was pale and a seemed a bit uncertain. He swallowed thickly and nodded back over towards the gate.

"Somebody's here! Somebody just went inside!" Carl whispered. Daryl reached out and grabbed Carl by the arm and shoved him behind himself. He slid the last foot or two to the edge of the wall where it met the chain-link entrance gates and peeked his head, just barely, around the corner to have a look for himself. Sure enough, he spotted the heavy door at the top of the ramp sitting wide open. No one in their group was ever that careless. No one would leave that door open behind themselves, not even for a second.

"The fuck—" he mouthed silently to himself as he took in the door with his squinted, disbelieving eyes. He looked across the gap in the walls where they gave way to the high, rolling chain link gates that allowed them access into the yard.

The heavy chains on the gate had been severed with bolt cutters and left in the dirt, but it had been closed behind whoever had entered. Just how many men could be in there? Surely more than one. He didn't know and couldn't begin to try to wrap his brain around it. Someone should have been on watch. Where were they? Where was _everyone_? How could this be happening_ again_?

His mind raced and as a walker shambled particularly close to the gate, he startled a bit and dragged his body back behind the cover of the block wall, but not before he noticed the heart stopping color that was coating the walker's hands and front. Blood red. Fresh, wet, cooling crimson, dripping from the bullet wounds that tore through the monster's newly dead body and onto the gravel at its unsteady feet. He fought to calm the chill that threatened to run the length of his spine, knowing full well that Pru would be able to read his ass like a book, and stilled against the wall.

"What?" Pru asked quietly as she clutched at his right bicep. He didn't turn to look at her, only mouthed the word _walker_. Instead, he shushed her checked back over his left shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before making his next move. Suddenly something fell from overhead, directly into his line of sight. His eyes moved downward on their own, to the wildly sprouting grass that rose up under their feet along with those of Pru and Carl. He stooped to inspect the object. There nestled in between the long blades of late springtime grass sat the still smoldering butt of a cheap cigarette. Someone was up in the watch tower above them and wasn't aware of their presence because of the angle. Someone who wasn't one of _them_.

He looked to Pru and Carl then as he tossed the cigarette back to the ground. They knew what was going on. He saw it on their faces. The fear. The uncertainty. The adrenaline that was making its way through their bodies. Pru let her hand slip limply off Daryl's arm and placed it on Carl's small shoulder in an attempt to steady and reassure him. Daryl locked eyes with her for a brief moment before he put his finger to his lips and motioned for them to stay silent while he checked the situation in the yard more thoroughly.

He turned away from them at that point, sliding back over to the gate and peering back around all the way once he was sure the coast was clear of intruders, live or dead. He slinked farther out towards the center of the gate, pushing the limits of the cover provided by the angle at which he was standing below the lip of the tower's cat walk. As he slowly made his way over, he saw a scene that made his blood run cold.

There was a body slumped lifelessly against the wheel of the Hyundai. Had it not been for the size of the body and the remnants of the clothing, he wouldn't have recognized the gnawed heap of flesh that remained. In the middle of the yard, bloodied, broken, and eaten almost to the point of being unrecognizable was a man who'd very obviously died defending the rest of the group. Rifle still in his grip, T-Dog sat, mangled and drained. Now the very birdsong that had heralded the return of summer and promised so much at the beginning of the day felt twisted and hollow, a blow to the gut as it rose up into the skies from the trees that surrounded the prison yard. He sucked in a breath and then tucked himself back behind the concrete wall one final time, trying to steel his nerves while he came up with a plan for getting back inside quickly, before whoever else was inside came out.  
He turned back to Pru and Carl.

"T's gone. Took 'em out," He cautioned gruffly as he pulled an arrow out of his quiver and loaded it. He listened to Pru's breath hitch in that telltale way it did and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kid's jaw fall slack and sad in shocked disbelief. But there wasn't time for mourning. Not now. Not when the other members of the group were still inside and in danger.

Suddenly Daryl realized getting back inside that gate while the lookout was in the guard tower would be near impossible. He'd never make it in without a distraction. His mind was back to doing burnouts. He didn't want to put either Pru or Carl in danger, but he needed help with this, and _fast_ before the situation got worse. He bit his lip and snarled in frustration as he turned back to Pru.

"I need you to get in there while he's shootin' at me," He whispered suddenly as he shucked the pack that hung off his shoulders, "S'the only way we're gunna get this done."

Pru balked, horrifying at his words but then seemed to consider the plan that had been laid out. She pulled out of her own backpack and let it fall to the ground before reaching for one of her guns in its holster.

"Alright, where are y-"

"Wait," Carl interrupted, "If both of you are shooting, whoever is up there will be twice as distracted. I can open the gate, kill that walker and sneak up in the tower, then shoot whoever it up there from behind while they're not looking."

"What am I gunna tell ya mother if ya end up shot?! …_Again."_ Pru snapped at the kid. Daryl looked down at the boy, knowing that he'd been in less than preferable situations before. He'd fired that gun more times than anyone was able to count over the winter at potential food as well as walkers… And he'd apparently shot a man already; one of the men from Merle and Deacon's crew the day they'd kidnapped the girls. And as much as he hated the idea of sticking the kid—one left in his charge by a man as good as his own brother—in the middle of this dangerous situation, it was feeling like it was the best option they had. Carl had developed nerves as steady as his hand.

"There isn't time to argue," Carl implored defiantly at Pru as he looked back into the yard past Daryl, "We need to do this!"

Pru looked to Daryl as if to ask why he hadn't already told the boy to 'knock off the hero shit' and stay put. He adjusted his grip on his crossbow and gave his head a quick shake before replying to her look with quiet, rushed words.

"Kid's got a point. We can argue this now an' wait fer whoever's in there to come out an' kill us, too, or we can get this done."

She gritted her teeth in frustration before pursing her lips, reluctantly and angrily acquiescing, and removed the other gun from her holster so she could hand it off to Carl.

"Take this. He'll hear you coming if ya use yours. I'll run for the other side of the wall, Daryl can go for the security booth right over there," she gestured, "I'll shoot twice, wait and let Daryl fire, then shoot once again if neither of us have already hit him. That should give ya enough time to get up there and take him out, okay?"

Carl nodded dutifully, pushing against the wall at Daryl's back and inching toward the gate, quietly, cautiously, looking so very much like a tiny version of Rick with that campaign hat settled atop his head. The kid turned back to him, waiting for Daryl to give him the go-ahead by rushing out towards the tree and opening fire. Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat and at once, pushed off the wall, running full tilt towards the booth that sat about thirty feet away from the gate.

A shout came from behind him as he knew it would, and the bullets began to fly almost immediately. Rounds ricocheted off the ground behind him, but he was able to dodge them all and duck behind the wall of the booth. A second later, as he heard the muted rounds from Pru's gun returning cover fire, he was sure that she was safely hidden behind the opposite wall. He slid across the ground in a crouch and peered out, back towards the tower, where Pru was aiming. He saw that the man was no longer focused on him, and took the opportunity to fire a shot with his crossbow. He missed his mark, only landing a shot to the sniper's shoulder and ducked back, immediately, waiting for Pru to fire that last shot, signaling Carl to make his move.

The sound of an agonized scream was followed again by gunshots. This time they were poorly aimed and wild. A pause came suddenly and Daryl found himself searching with his eyes across the cracked asphalt to where Pru had been. She answered him with a questioning glance of her own as he reloaded his crossbow. He was about to turn to peek back out of the booth up towards the tower when he heard the gate move.

"Are you coming or not?!" Carl's voice sounded as he fired another muted shot, presumably at a walker, "Hurry!"

At that, Daryl was up and out of the booth, running for the now open gate along with Pru. Once they were in the confines of the yard, Carl pulled the gate shut again behind them and passed off the arrow that Daryl had hit the gunman with. Nodding his thanks to the boy, he stowed it in the quiver and pulled Pru around and up towards the ramp. He was about to make his way to the door when she pulled away from him and stopped along with Carl. Daryl looked back towards them as they stared across the yard to the cars.

At the felled body that sat alone.

At T-Dog.

He swallowed when he realized why Pru stopped, what needed to be done. He wouldn't allow T's corpse such an ugly fate as reanimation, nor would he allow Carl or Pru, or any of the others see it happen, much less make someone else take care of the task. His hand fell to the blade sheathed at his hip and after a short pause, he moved with purpose back down the ramp.

His limbs felt heavy as he strode to the car. Fingers flexed along the bound handle of the knife to the rhythm of his churning stomach. He slowed as he approached, having to force every step as he moved closer. He knelt next to the body; as close as he could manage without touching the blood that was pooling the tiny channels made by the rocks and gravel. There was no question that the man—a good man, a friend—was dead. No sense in checking his shredded throat for even a weak pulse. He'd not survive anyway. Daryl sucked in an unsteady breath and raised his blade, knowing that lingering was foolish.

_Thank you._

The words crept across his mind and almost made it to his dry tongue as he plunged the knife down, deep into the back of T-Dog's hanging head. The sound of the metal sliding back out of his friend's skull had never felt as sickening over the last few months as it did in that instance. His head swam as he rose, wiped his knife across the leg of his pants, and then sheathed it again in favor of his bow.

As he hurried back to the ramp and the door to the prison, he tried to push the thought of what he'd just had to do to the back of his head. As he looked up at Carl and Pru's sullen eyes and tear stained faces and pushed past them, crossbow at the ready as he entered the door.

"C'mon. _C'mon." _ He growled vehemently as he hurried them along, sparing no time to comfort or mourn. There'd be time for that later after they made sure everyone unaccounted for was safe and the threat was eliminated.

** . . .**

In the dark, familiar corridors of the prison, the trio worked their way towards the sound of clanging cookware and gruff voices echoing around inside the kitchen and cafeteria with the seething hunter on point. Men, unfamiliar and audibly aggressive were arguing with what Daryl recognized to be Rick and Herschel. Distracted by the task of trying to make out what the echoed shouts were saying, Daryl's foot snagged something and caused him to stumble and hit into the hard wall.

"Are ya okay?!" Pru crowed quietly are she grabbed blindly for his back in the blackness. He pushed off the wall with his shoulder and steadied himself while shooing her almost frantic hands away. Kicking out with his leg, he tested the area behind him to see where the weighty object that he'd fumbled over was located. His foot connected with it again and the dull, soft feel of the contact made his breath catch in his throat. He knew where it was now. And what it was. The new question—_who it was_—was one he wasn't sure that he wanted to have answered. Before he could complete his next thought, Carl's small flashlight was out and on and illuminating the lanky body that lay at their feet in another growing pool of red.

"Oh god!" Pru gasped as she clutched Carl's arm and drew him away from the dead boy that lay, shot and sprawled on the floor. The realization hit him as he pushed himself between the prone corpse of the teen and the shocked living, breathing bodies at his back. Tyreese and T-Dog had been talking about letting Chris get in some more target practice the night before. He must have been up in the tower when the marauders barreled down the road towards them.

The beam of light, shaking in Carl's unsteady hand caught on something black a few feet from Chris' hand. Daryl tore the flashlight away from the boy and pushed him further behind himself in an attempt to shield him from the sight of his friend's mangled and bloodied face and head as he shone the light directly upon the object that had caught his eye. Chris had one of the radios in hand when he'd been shot. A small wave of relief washed over Daryl. Maybe he and T had been able to warn everyone that these people were coming. Maybe.

He turned the light off, realizing suddenly that it may have been visible through the tiny windows on the cafeteria doors down the hallway. He handed it back to Carl and grabbed for Pru's arm, ushering her and the boy further down the hall towards the cafeteria. As they neared the door to the cafeteria, they crouched down so as not to be seen as they crept past the doors. Daryl paused just long enough to stand and peer through the glass to count how many assholes were in there looting their stores. After determining that there were only three in there they pressed on to the cafeteria doors. He slowed and sidled up to the wall, finally able to make out what the voices coming from inside the lunch room.

"You sure you two the only ones left in here, cowboy?" a rough drawl called out from somewhere in the open room. Daryl slid in front of the swinging door so he could peer through the crack. Immediately, he could see two heavily armed men standing around the room. He could feel the presence of a handful of others in there, out of sight. Rick was speaking directly to one, he noticed, while Herschel was watching a second that must have been standing over by the door to the kitchen.

"I've already told you. We're the only ones left." Rick snarled through gritted teeth, his hand on the butt of his pistol as he paced the floor.

"You know what, now? I jus' don't buy that, man. Not for a second." A voice, the source of which Herschel was eyeballing warily, called out. The voice was so familiar, and yet unfamiliar, to him that he almost felt compelled to call out to it.

"It's been a long winter." Herschel said plainly, going along with the attempt to mislead the intruders. Daryl strained a bit trying to get a glimpse of the man through the tiny space between the doors. But with the next string of words the identity of the voice was revealed.

"Now that's true, old man. …That's damn right. And I guess we didn't leave ya'll with too many last time we paid ya'll a visit, neither, huh? But I tell ya what? I remember ya'll pullin' the same exact bullshit move on us last time. I know there's more of ya'll hidin' in here… Somewhere." the man chuckled as his muscular frame meandered into Daryl's line of sight. He pulled away from the door immediately and turned to the dim light reflecting off of Pru and Carl's pale faces.

"You gotta get out of here." He said hurriedly as he began fishing in his pockets. He could sense the way her face contorted in confusion and anger as soon as the words left his mouth.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about? I'm not leaving you! Not when there are peop—"

"It's_ them_. They found us." Daryl growled as he looked back up, trying to keep a handle on his anger. He watched the realization creep across Carl's face first. Maybe it was denial keeping Pru from latching onto the fact that Deacon was standing mere feet away from them, on the other side of that door. Or maybe it was the fact that she _did _realize what he'd just told her, but her panic had caused her to freeze. Either way, Daryl realized that he needed to get them away from there and fast. He pushed the keys that he'd been rooting around in his pockets for into Carl's hands.

"Your ol' man an' Herschel are the only ones in there. I'mma go in there an' back 'em up. Idunno where the e'rybody else is at," he said to Carl as he stowed his crossbow and pulled out his handgun, "The others musta made it out of there and into the tombs 'fore they got in here. Ya'll head down the hallway an' on down into the next cellblock. Find a safe room or cell… or somethin' an' hide out for a while."

"That part of the prison is still full of walkers!" Carl said in disbelief as he got to his feet.

"Gotta make do with what we got, kid." He said as he checked the clip in the gun and adjusted the strap of the crossbow across his chest, "Now git. Try an' find the others."

"Daryl." Pru whimpered as he went to peer through the door again. He turned back to her and saw her welling eyes and realized in that moment that he'd never been more terrified in his entire life. He moved out of the path of the door and guided her over with him as he stood.

"I'm gonna come find you. I'm gonna _kill him_ and then I'll come find you. You hear me?"

She didn't say anything. He just watched as she wavered on unsteady feet. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. He turned to Carl then and nodded to the boy. "Git. An' lock the doors behind you."

With that, the kid was tugging on Pru's arm, leading her off down the long, dark corridor. Daryl listened to their feet move along the floor for a long time after they had been swallowed up by the black hallway. Finally he heard the moaning creak and clang of steel on steel as Carl quietly closed and locked one of the security checkpoint gates. After that, the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. And then there was nothing but the sound of Deacon's voice reverberating off of every surface in the empty, cavernous bastille they were calling home.

**. . .**

"My brother with you?" he called out as he pushed through the door, gun in hand and aimed at the back of the imposing man's head. All eyes, as well as guns, were immediately on him. He watched as a sick grin crept its way across Deacon's scruffy face, the tilt of his lips pushing his cheeks up into his eyes, causing him to look horrifyingly genuine in his happiness to see Daryl walk into the room.

"Daryl! You see now, man," Deacon chuckled as he turned back to Rick briefly, "Knew you was lyin' 'bout there only being just the both'a ya'll left! MERLE! C'MON OUT HERE AN' MEND YER BROKEN HEART UP, SOME!"

Daryl sneered as his brother's name left Deacon's mouth. And in the next moment Merle was through the door of the kitchen followed by the others. He hadn't seen him in there upon his original count and he admonished himself internally for not seeing him in there. Daryl stilled and tightened his grip on his weapon as his brother slowly realized he was present in the room. Merle's slick, shit-eating grin grew impossibly wide.

"There he is," he drawled, slow and friendly, as if seeing an old friend for the first time in decades, "How you been since I last seen you, Little Bro? How'd the cold, _lonely_ winter treat ya'll."

His brother emphasized 'lonely' on purpose, drawing the word out, long and sing-song, trying to play at what had happened back in the fall at the ranger station. Merle didn't know the women had made it back. It was obvious they'd escaped, but he'd apparently just figured they'd gotten lost, or torn to shreds by the dead. Daryl felt himself wanting to grin at his brother's ignorance.

…Ignorance that was about to work to Daryl's advantage. In the corner of his eye, he saw a small, light figure shifting and crawling its way across the guards' catwalk up above the room in the far corner. He didn't need to look to know who it was. He knew by how quiet she was, how she just about slithered along the metal beneath her, rifle in tow. Andrea had come from the watchman's room just above the great room and was setting up a shot. All Daryl needed to do was give her a little bit of time to get in position.

"We done just fine til' you lot got here," Daryl spat at his brother, gun still trained on the vague shape of Deacon, floating off somewhere to his left. He didn't trust his brother as far as he could throw the bastard, but he, for some reason had tucked his gun away, allowing the semi-automatic rifle to dangle at his side. Deacon, however, was still clutching to a shotgun and the muzzle was trained on Rick's gut.

"Wha'chu want, Merle?" Daryl growled, low and quiet, like an angry dog, "How'd you find us?"

At that, Merle and a few of the other men let out a couple little snickers and snorts. Daryl's brow knit at the sound and he watched as Merle backed up to one of the steel tables and sit atop it, as if he was planning to get comfortable. Merle rubbed at his face and neck with his good hand, like he was kneading out a slowburn headache. He smiled and motioned to Deacon without saying a word, first, before chuckling again, in earnest, and opening his mouth to explain.

"Sorry to hurt yer feelings, Darlyna, but this is just as much happenstance as last time was. We wasn't out lookin' fer ya'll all winter or nothin'. Ya'll are just this side a complete waste of ammo to us, at this point. Nah, we just came out here to Deacon's ol' humble abode to scout some supplies, is all. See what's left. Had I known ya'll was hold up here, I woulda brought yer ass a cake with a little file in it."

The laughter began again at Merle's little joke. Something jumped out at him, though. Something Merle had just said struck him and made his skin prickle uncomfortably. He narrowed his eyes, still locked on his brother as he called out to the other men in the kitchen and told them to bring the last of the food & supplies they'd raided from the kitchen out to the trucks parked out in the yard. As they did, part of Daryl's mind drifted back to that hallway, hoping to hell that Pru and Carl had enough sense to stay out of that hallway and sight.

"Wha'chu mean, 'humble abode'?" he asked his brother suspiciously, though it had already been realized to a point. Merle turned back to him and then nodded to the gorilla that had that gun trained on Rick. He felt Deacon smile.

"This one was a resident of Statesville, here, brother. Doin' hard time. Ain't that right, Deacon?" Merle rasped as he scratched at his chin.

"The hardest, Merle. Twenty-five to… Woulda jus' rotted away in here had the dead not rose up an' all but sprung me. Woulda got away with the whole thing had the last bitch I got my hands on not got away from me, neither. Couldn't pin the rest on me, though… They wasn't gon' be doin' no more talkin'," Deacon chuckled as he rocked from foot to foot lazily, still eyeing Rick and they gun that was aimed right between his eyes.

Daryl felt his blood boil. He knew what kind of crimes got you a life sentence in the state of Georgia. Deacon had apparently been a repeat offender; made a habit out of stripping others of their self-worth and power. The kind of monstrous things he'd done to Pru, he'd done to other women before her. Who knew how many?

…But Pru had gotten away. She'd survived, because she was more imposing and tougher than any of the men in the room, including him.

"Looks like you made a habit outta lettin' them get away." Daryl snarled victoriously, his chest suddenly swelling with a pride for Pru, voice just above a whisper. Deacon heard what he'd said, despite the low volume of Daryl's volume. He watched Deacon slowly turn away from Rick and let the gun in his arms go slack, growing anger and confusion spreading across his rough features like an oil slick over a stormy sea. The man began to take large aggressive strides across the cafeteria floor towards him, but Daryl kept stock still and unflinching, save for the slow lowering of his gun, staring him down the entire distance.

"Wha'chu say, boy?" Deacon uttered threateningly as he loomed over Daryl's much smaller frame. Daryl glared upwards, still grinning through his snarl at him.

"I think you heard what I said," Daryl grumbled, "I think, somewhere in that worthless mind'a yers, you know."

Deacon's steely, crazed eyes searched his own for a moment as his hot breath fanned out over his face in seething gales of laughter. Daryl saw the anger spreading still. Bubbling up into an almost frightening froth. But he kept still, glued and fixed to his spot, all the while trying to keep himself from smiling genuinely. The room grew terribly tense and quiet. The only sound that Daryl could hear above the thundering in his own veins was the sound of the bomb that was about to go off in Deacon's mind.

In a flash, Daryl was snatched up by the leather lapels of his winged vest and his collar, the fabric tight and constricting his throat as the length of the shotgun pressed cold and hard against him, left bicep to right cheek. Deacon charged to a nearby table with all the force of a truck, tossing Daryl up onto it hard enough to knock even the thought of breathing right from his mind. He wheezed and flailed for a moment in an attempt to get leverage enough to pull himself free or find the ground as Deacon used the gun to pin him to the table top.

"How 'bout I carve you up, like I did to that little whore'a yers, huh?!"Deacon roared as he pressed down on the gun with one arm, the pressure weight behind it feeling like it was almost enough to crack his ribs. He tried to maneuver the gun in his hand to point at the other man, but it was pinned at an odd angle now. Daryl watched as, with the other arm, Deacon reached for a knife at his waist and drew it from the sheath. A knife he recognized to be Pru's.

"DEACON!" Merle's familiar voice suddenly boomed a warning out into the space around them. Dumbstruck, both Daryl and Deacon looked towards the source of the angry shout. His gun was out now. Out but not pointed where Daryl expected it to be pointed. Not drawn on Herschel, who still had a gun aimed at the back of Merle's head. Not at Rick, or even him as he lay pinned beneath Deacon. Instead, Merle had his gun pulled on the one man it shouldn't have been.

"Now you put that knife away, 'fore I gotta teach you how to play nice," Merle ground out through clenched teeth. Daryl turned his face back to Deacon who was still hovering threateningly above him, knife still in his grasp. Deacon's crazed expression dulled a bit and morphed into one of cynicism. He scoffed, but Daryl felt some of the weight come off his chest.

"What's this shit, Merle?" Deacon chuckled sourly, eyes narrowed and dangerous. Daryl looked back to Merle, but Merle kept his eyes fixed to Deacon. He was staring the other man down. Trying to intimidate him with that icy stare Daryl had grown up knowing well and fearing.

"Ain't gonna ask you again, friend. You stow that blade… No hard feelings, man. You just go an' do as I say, now." Merle insisted with his gravely drawl through his teeth. And a different kinda of tense quiet fell over that large room and all who were within it. Every man in that room, including Daryl froze. No one dared breathe, lest it trigger either one of the human landmines to go off.

A loud crack split the air and the sound of a ricochet followed as Daryl caught sight of one of the men with their guns aimed at Rick's head, knocked almost clear across the room by the bullet's force as it tore through his face. Shouts and gunfire erupted almost immediately. The room had suddenly become a firing range. In the melee, Deacon's weight came off him as the other man ducked behind the table for cover. Daryl immediately rolled off the table, gun in hand, and took cover behind a nearby counter. He heard agonized shouting coming from a few other men as they were picked off by Andrea. He leaned around the corner and opened popped off two rounds in the direction of another Woodburyian who was shooting at his friends. He heard the telltale sound of Rick's pistol, as well as the rapid fire of one of those automatics, no doubt aimed haphazardly at one of them.

A loud blast sounded out and he was sprayed with crumbling plaster from above. It was either from Deacon or friendly fire from Herschel. He leaned back, tucking his body as close to the shelf as possible, not willing to take any chances.

"C'mon, let's go!" came an agonized shout as the sound of the kitchen doors flying open and then closed told of where their opponents were headed. He peeked out from around the corner again and he saw a second and a third man make a play for the swinging door. Rick, he realized was now across from him, ducked behind a flight of stairs. Two bodies lay on the floor between them, draining of blood. That left two more unaccounted for in the room. Whether Deacon or Merle was among them, he was unsure.

Rick nodded to him letting him know he was on the same wavelength. Without needing to signal any further, they both stood in one movement and surveyed the room. It was quiet. There was no movement from anyone else in the room. Another body lay still and bloodied, sprawled over one of the table's stationery seats. Daryl glanced up to his left to make eye contact with Andrea. She motioned for them to be quiet and then pointed to just below her, behind a load bearing pillar that was part of the catwalk. Daryl nodded to her and signaled to Rick that whoever was still in the room was there, beyond anyone's reach.

Before they could call out to anyone, they watched as Deacon darted out from behind the alcove and burst through kitchen doors with what must have been an empty gun. A loud blast from the opposite side of the room nearly took one of the doors off its hinges right behind him. Herschel stepped out from an overturned serving cart on the opposite side of the room and made his way after him.

"Herschel!" Rick called as he and Daryl followed the older man out into the kitchen after the older man,"…Daryl, where's Carl?!"

"He's fine. Left him with the babysitter." Daryl grunted as he tried to navigate through the mess of spilled blood, bullet casings and fallen debris. The kitchen was empty and the doors to the dark hallway were already swinging shut behind him when they entered. Tripping over pots and pans, Daryl hurried his way through the kitchen wondering how the old man was able to bound through the very same room and out into the hallway so quickly without breaking his neck. As they made it to the door they saw the door to the outside, far down the hallway open and close as the shape of a man disappeared through it, allowing the bright afternoon light to illuminate the long, black hallway for a moment. Before the light in the corridor ebbed away again they caught sight of Herschel as he tripped over something and landed hard on the floor. The sound that came next not only caught Daryl off guard, but sent him rocketing ahead of Rick at break-neck speed. The low gurgling growl was followed quickly by a gut wrenching holler and the unmistakable sound of flesh ripping from bone. And somewhere from outside, came the sound of engines revving and wheels flinging rocks and gravel all over the yard and the building.

"HERSCHEL!" Rick cried out desperately over the noise. Daryl swallowed hard as he struggled to run as quickly as his sore ribs and crossbow, bouncing clumsily off his back, would allow. The kid. Chris. He'd naïvely figure because the kid's face and head were messed up that he'd been shot or stabbed. Wounded enough so he wouldn't come back. As Daryl came up on the wounded man and the walker, with no source of light readily available, he did his best to blindly kick at the corpse before it tore him or Herschel to shreds.

"Rick, get the door!" he shouted as his boot made contact with what he guessed to be the walker's torso for the second time. On the third upswing of his leg, he felt the thing's hand reach out and grasp a hold of his pants. He yelled as he fell backwards against the wall the thing had originally been next to and grabbed for his knife, hoping like hell the he didn't stab himself or Herschel. Scrambling for a handle on the thing, he brought his knife up and quickly plunged it deep into the flesh just north of his own hand. In the next blink, Rick had the door ajar and Daryl could see that he'd stabbed the thing right in the mouth. The blade so long and sharp it had luckily made its way to the back of its head. He shrugged away from the limp corpse in horror as it dawned on him just how close he'd come to being bitten, but in the next instant he was up and trying to check the injured man out.

"Where'd it bite you?!" he shouted at Herschel a bit too roughly as he pulled the old man to his feet. Herschel groaned in pain and clenched tightly onto his shoulder as he hefted him to his feet.

"M-my leg." He said hoarsely as he floundered a bit, very obviously in a great deal of pain. Daryl turned towards the light beaming through the open door and made contact with Rick's wide, almost dazed eyes.

"C'mon, Rick, we gotta move!" Daryl shouted as he put his knife back into the sheath and balanced Herschel's weight over his shoulders. Rick snapped back to reality then, and the next thing he knew, the whole area was swallowed up by total darkness again. Rick's heavy and frantic footfalls raced back towards him. He could feel Rick groping around to get a better hold on Herschel's weight to help him back towards the kitchen area. The door to the cafeteria slammed back open at that point and they could see Andrea's silhouette making its way towards them.

"Are they gone? What happened?!" she shouted upon hearing Herschel's pained panting.

"Walker," Rick huffed in an urgent tone as he adjusted the weight he was helping to drag, "Go back. Go back."

Andrea ran back towards the door to the kitchen and held them open for them as they carried Herschel inside. They got his weight up high enough to slide him onto the long stainless steel counter top. Without thinking, Daryl tossed what was left sitting around onto the floor in one quick motion, causing some more pots and utensils to rain down noisily onto the floor. Rick reached over and yanked the right leg of Herschel's pants up, exposing the deep gouge left in his flesh of his calf by the walker's teeth. Daryl looked up to Rick then, realizing what he was thinking.

They'd talked about it. The "what-if". Maybe there was a way to stop the infection from spreading. Maybe there was a way to keep someone who'd sustained a bite to one of their extremities _alive_. It was a long shot, and a theory. One they had the good fortune of not needing to test, up until this point. Rick's eyes flashed down to the floor, to the items that Daryl had just cleared from the table top.

"Herschel, we're gonna try to stop the infection. Remember what we talked about?" Rick asked as he dipped to the floor and grabbed up a large meat cleaver. As he came up, Daryl watched him move around to the gas stove and turn it on, setting the thick, heavy blade in the flames to sterilize it as best he could. He looked down into Herschel's large, frightened eyes then, and for a second, he honestly thought the old timer was just going to ask him to put him down. To not even try saving him. But after a few beats, Herschel blinked and nodded determinedly. Daryl stooped to grab a wooded spoon from the ground as Andrea turned to gather up whatever clean dish rags she could find.

"Grab his belt, Daryl, we need a tourniquet." Rick barked across the kitchen. Daryl nodded silently and placed the handle of the spoon in Herschel's mouth so he had something to bite down on. He grabbed the belt buckle and yanked it off and wrapped it tightly around his thigh, wincing at the pained whimper the sudden movement had apparently caused the man. A second later, Andrea was back next to him with a bundle of what looked to be clean rags and a shirt, to temporarily dress the wound, that would no doubt, bleed profusely. Rick marched back over then, cleaver in hand, visually trying to ready himself for what he was about to do.

"Hold him down. Lay across his chest and his legs. He can't struggle, or it'll be worse than it needs to be." Rick ordered. Daryl tossed himself over top of Herschel's legs, while Andrea, at his left, tried to pin the old man's torso down as best she could with her all her meager weight.

"Do it now!" Daryl exclaimed through gritted teeth! The next thing he knew, Rick was bring the blade of the cleaver down over and over again into the flesh and bone of Herschel's leg. He could feel a bit of the blood from the blade hit his face as the movement flung it into the air. He tried with all his might to keep Herschel from moving as he endured the excruciating and terrifying makeshift surgery. But after a moment, the struggling, and blood-curdling screams, it all lessened and then subsided completely.

"He pass out or what?" Daryl shouted back to Andrea as Rick continued hacking away at the bone.

"Yeah, I can still feel him breathing." She replied.  
In the back of his head, Daryl realized he was keeping count of how many times Rick brought that blade down.

_Eight. Nine. Ten._

On the eleventh, the lower portion of the leg fell free from the rest of Herschel's body, and made a sickening slap as it contacted with the floor. A small gush of blood rushed out, despite the tourniquet and splattered to the ground as well. Rick stood looking aghast and ashen for a second. Daryl didn't hesitate to grab the lump of cloth and press it, hard to the wound.

"Andrea, c'mere." He called out to her.  
"Oh god," she uttered as he came over and grabbed the towels from him. He helped her elevate the leg to keep the blood from spilling out everywhere. Daryl then turned back to Rick to see that the man was still in a bit of shock at the situation. He nudged him a bit, and that seemed to jolt him back into awareness and watched him set the cleaver down and wipe the blood coating his hands off onto his pants.

"Where's e'eryone else?" he finally asked Rick, "We ain't gonna be able to deal with this on our own. We need Maggie an' Carol. They'll know what to do, right?"

"I gave Glenn my keys," Rick nodded, "Led everyone into the other cellblock—C—we gotta bring them back."

Daryl shook his head and pulled the gun from his waistband to check how many more rounds were left in the clip as he listened to Rick. Satisfied with his count, he slapped the clip back into the gun and stowed it again. He took one more solemn look at Herschel's leg before turning back to his friend.

"I'll go. You stay here an' keep an eye out. Won't be gone but a few minutes," He muttered as he nodded to the doors and pulled his crossbow off his back. Rick hesitated for a moment, before silently agreeing. At that, Daryl was out the door and up the hall, heading towards the perilous depths of Cellblock A. As he turned the key in the lock, something strange settled into the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he felt like things were about to get much, much worse.


End file.
